Breaking Bones
by Seeping Through the Stars
Summary: Waking up in a foreign room is never a good sign for any hero, but when your hands are tied down, injuries you don't remember having cause you to bite your lip to stop the screaming, and a foreign alien tells you that the Reach have taken over, most of the Team is dead, and you're about to start a strenuous training program to enforce their instruction, it's a problem-a big problem
1. Breaking Chains

**A/N: Thank you for choosing to read this fanfiction! I've had this story sitting in Microsoft Word for a while now, but I figure I should post it before the show completely changes on me and it becomes irrelevant ;). I'm super excited about this fic, and you'll see why in the next few chapters. Tim's my favorite character, so I always thought there needed to be more fics on him.  
**

**I promise. This is the shortest chapter. REALLY.**

**Enjoy, and Review! I want to know what you think!**

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Chapter 1: Breaking Chains

_Unknown Location_

_Unknown Date [Unknown Time]_

There must have been darkness, because suddenly light had slashed open the nothingness that lay, obliterating the black shadows and permeating through the dark.

A brilliant red glow replaced it. Warped shapes slowly formed and crystallized. He could feel himself groan as the light grew into a sharp blaze of radiance. As the figures around him continually developed into recognizable objects, he took notice of his surroundings.

It was a considerably small room. There was little space beyond the futuristic bed that lay close to the ground. The floor reflected the gleam of red surrounding the area. Beyond that, only darkness could be distinguished. Besides the large oblong capsule connected to the wall, the room had little furniture. Even the bed Tim was laying on was much skinnier than his own.

Of course, this was not his room, the Batcave, or even the Watchtower.

Tim Drake had no idea where he was.

He sat up quickly, which might have been the reason his head suddenly surged with pain as if something had split it into two. He would have gripped his head with his hands, but thick ropes bounding his wrists to sides of the bed limited his ability. Tim tugged on the ropes, but once a scream tore through his throat, he knew an arm was broken.

But Tim had been trained by better than to make another sound.

He bit his lip as searing pain enveloped his left arm. After a moment, he let out a deep breath.

Of course, the alarms blaring through the room didn't help him from panicking.

Every shift of motion he made with his feet to remove the thick padded blanket tucked into the corners of the bed caused his legs to sear with pain, but he had managed to cause the sheet to fall to the floor.

"You're awake," said a smooth voice traveling through the thick air.

It startled Tim, sending another sharp pain through his left arm. "Mhhmm," he suppressed a groan as his head turned to inspect the person who had entered the room.

'_Oh great,'_ thought Robin, immediately scowling at the entering figure, _'another alien.'_

He wore a long straight coat trimmed with white lining and shielding but the front of his neck with a high collar. The color blue framed the thin green face in odd, structured angles. He was completely expressionless, and eyebrows slanted down to about an inch above his eyes gave the impression of seriousness. Though for some reason, Tim could almost sense a bit of anticipation in the deep orange eyes of the familiar breed of alien.

He hadn't recognized Tim, but Tim had recognized him. He was one of the aliens at the Reach ship he and the Team had entered to save the captured team members.

Once the alarm stopped, the alien started talking again, "Subject 1-02, I see you have… _attempted_ escape. That is unnecessary." he walked to the foot of the bed, where he was facing Robin directly.

'_Subject?_

Tim didn't respond. His right hand curled so that that his fingers could reach the small knife hidden inside his sleeve, but it had disappeared. He would have to find another way to cut himself out of the ropes, besides his utility belt, which had also mysteriously been misplaced.

"I have not introduced myself. My name is Caralack. But you will call me Instructor."

Tim's eyes focused on a small crack in the floor as his mind fluttered with ideas and theories of escape plans. It was hard to concentrate, however, when his arm flared in pain after an accidental shift of position.

"Where _am _I?" he asked through gritted teeth.

"A somewhat… _confined _Reach base, Base 13A." Caralack continued onto the next topic before Tim could ask any other further questions. "You may have taken concern over your condition?"

Tim's train of thought collapsed as he looked downward at hearing this comment, now noticing the rips in his black pants that the blanket had previously shielded. He could see bits of large irritated red burn marks along the side of his leg and several other sporadic gashes. His broken arm had become relatively num and the slight dizziness in his head had subsided.

The Reach alien continued, "You fought well, but were overpowered."

Robin looked at Caralack with a confused expression. When he thought back to the last thing he remembered, it seemed as if there was a black hole present in his mind.

The alien noticed. "Not surprising. Memory loss is a common symptom of humans who have experienced head injuries. You have only been unconscious for just over a month, but I surmise you have lost memory of a longer period. What is the date you last remember, earthling?"

When Tim didn't respond, Caralack guessed, "May 11, 2017 I presume?" He must have taken the deepened glare and stuttered "How did you…?" from the Boy Wonder as a sign of accuracy because he promptly continued. "Subject 1-02, it is September 17th, 2017. You have indeed lost a substantial amount of memory. I will summarize the events of the past four months."

Tim wasn't sure he wanted to know what had happened in the last 129 days. If his brain had forgotten, maybe it was because he didn't want to remember.

"Earthlings have welcomed The Reach with open arms. The additives infused in Reach and LexCorp products have only widened their eyes further to the wisdom and leadership of the Reach. In the words of Gordon Godfrey, 'The Reach is where the world needs to be.' Most agree with this statement. The products' activity has surpassed our expectations. It had only taken 6 months for them to fully activate. It is clear, however, that many humans still need to be exposed to the Reach's attributes. Those who are opposed to our ways of instruction are simply eliminated, or if we are in need of test subjects, some humans may be as lucky as to participate in one of our projects. After surveying your Team, for example, the Reach determined the most effective solution to your resistance would be to eliminate the problem at its source."

Tim, who had been half concentrated on scoping the room for sharp objects, quickly turned his head away from the alien, eyes wide with concern but completely intent on preventing the alien to detect so. Robin wasn't stupid. He knew exactly what Caralack did. Though apparently, the tall green figure standing at the end of Tim's bed wasn't stupid either.

"The heroes you currently ponder of have already been…dealt with."

He whipped his head back towards Caralack, his eyes thinned to white slits through the black mask positioned across his face.

It was obvious that Tim was taken off guard. Firstly, it was entirely reckless of Tim to acknowledge anything a kidnapper rolled off his tongue with any sign of emotional recognition. Secondly, it was therefore horribly stupid for Tim to ask a foreign alien that took him captive any question and expect accurate information. Despite this, Tim was still fervently compelled to gain some sort of knowledge regarding the situation.

Before Tim could think otherwise or Caralack could change the subject, Robin's voice emerged for the first time in the past five minutes.

"Martian. Short red hair."

It didn't take long for Caralack to realize that the boy was counting off the members of his team and promptly answer. "Miss Martain? Oh yes, that subject is quite dead."

Shock filled Tim's lung with cement. Had he not been training under the world's least emotional for over a year, he might have begun to hyperventilate. However, he settled by taking a deep breath and firmly locking eye contact with Caralack.

"Would you prefer me to enlighten you with the condition of the others rather than continue?" Caralack's face formed a wide grin and Tim's hatred towards the alien multiplied tenfold. "_Superboy_ – currently located in containment facilities. _Beast Boy_ – dead. _Wonder Girl_ –forty eight hours to live. _Impulse _– partaking in lab B07 for experimentation_. Lagoon Boy _– dead_. Bumblebee _– dead_. Nightwing –"_

"Stop," Tim softly pleaded through rapid breaths. His eyes were squeezed shut and his fingers gripped the sides of the bed. "Please stop…"

It was a horrible word. _Please. _Tim knew all well that it was potentially one of the worst words to say before an enemy. It inevitably would expose a weakness and open a target for any opponent. The second Tim let it slip off his tongue he immediately wished it back.

"Oh," Caralack cocked his head, taking full advantage of the boy's vulnerability "you do not appreciate ascertaining the misery of your friends?"

Tim released his grip and clenched his jaw as he held a firm glare on Caralack. "I don't believe you."

"And you are not required to. I am simply releasing information regarding the predicaments of your fellow teammates at your request."

A moment passed where neither talked. Tim reflected on the statement and decided that if there was even a slight chance of Caralack speaking truthfully, then he should attain the information for further consideration.

"Nightwing…" his voice was gradually becoming weaker at concealing emotional distress. "Nightwing is _not_ dead." Although Caralack had not mentioned the state of the member of the bat family, Tim had spoken this sentence as a statement instead of a question. Of course, he had no reason whatsoever to assume such a supposition without any sufficient evidence or theories.

Caralack stared at Tim for a long moment before finally answering, "No. Nightwing is not dead. He is, however, training under the H.A.R.D. program. He remained in an unconscious state for a mere week and began training immediately. He completed the program in under one month. That, essentially, leads me t—"

It may have been that Tim was frustrated with himself for displaying a significant amount of emotion in his shaky voice (or the fact that an alien breed had taken captive and killed the majority of his team) that when he interrupted the alien, Caralack sensed a hint of anger lacing his tone.

"Batgirl?" replied Caralack, "Oh yes, did I forget to mention her?"

Tim held a breath as Caralack contemplated with himself.

'_Nightwing is alive…" _Tim told himself,_ "There's no possible way Batgirl is—'_

"Dead."

Tim shut his eyes. Preventing unwanted thoughts from entering his thought pattern, he forced himself to breathe and form a hard face.

"Now, as I was saying," Caralack continued, clearly sufficiently satisfied to change the subject, "you will be training under the H.A.R.D. program. It is usually an extensive and strenuous process, but we have considered your advanced abilities and decided to begin you on the last level of training. I was assigned as your personal guide. Tomorrow, though, I will be accompanied by an apprentice H.A.R.D Guide who will assist me."

Tim made no comment. Instead, his glazed eyes were focused on the tinted flooring.

"Do you understand?" Tim heard Caralack's voice again.

He snapped out of whatever state of trauma he had been consumed of prior and with a slightly lost expression, he looked Caralack in the eyes. "You c—," Robin started, but suddenly an abrupt pain exploded inside his head, traveling through the depth of his brain to the shell of his skull. "Ahh," he hissed as he hunched over in agony. This caused another round of pain for his broken arm, but the strain inside of his brain was so intense he almost didn't notice. Abruptly, though, the sharp pain ceased and he was left glaring at Caralack with a hard expression.

"Yes," answered Tim, suddenly unable to think of any reason opposed to the Reach control, "Of course."

Tim shook his head,_ 'wait—'_

Caralack nodded. "Your training will begin tomorrow morning, Subject 1-02." He started to leave, but turned when he reached half-way. Pulling something out of the inside pocket of his draped coat, he walked towards Robin.

"This," he said, holding up a needle with a white glossy substance inside, "will send you into unconsciousness for eighteen hours, while almost completely healing your injuries." Robin didn't even struggle when the alien inserted the needle into his broken arm, pressed on the end to empty the contents, and removed the needle. "Earthlings' medical intelligence is extremely amateur compared to our planet." He walked out of the small room.

As the darkness started to settle inside Tim's dull eyes, his last thoughts reverberated through his mind.

'_Miss Martian, Beast Boy, La'gaan, Bumblebee, and Batgirl are…d-dead—Wonder Girl soon. The rest are captured—either being reprogrammed or used as test subjects. I'm training to work for the aliens responsible. And was that… mind control? If the Reach don't kill me first,'_

His head lay back against his pillow as he slowly slipped into unconsciousness.

'_Batman will.'_

_Reach Base 13A_

_17 September 2017 [1200 hours]_

_[Data accumulated by untrustworthy source. Please confirm.]_


	2. Breaking the Ice

Chapter 2: Breaking the Ice

_Reach Base 13A_

_18 September 2017 [0545 hours]_

It seemed but a mere moment after he had closed his eyes that Tim was awakened by a familiar deep voice latching onto his neck and dragging him out of a silent slumber. Tim, most reluctantly, lifted his heavy eyelids to an expressionless alien standing, yet again, at the foot of his bed.

Any hope that the past encounter with Caralack was a mere nightmare disappeared instantly.

"In Earthling time, it is a quarter before six in the morning. Training shall begin at six o'clock sharp. You will notice that appropriate attire is provided," at this, he broke his frozen stance to gesture towards the tall, gray capsule connected to the wall that Tim had noticed earlier.

Tim didn't respond, or even consider the fact that he may have been expected to. Either way, though, the alien continued in his monotonous speech.

"You may have taken notice that your condition has significantly improved, Subject 1-02."

Robin's eyes flickered to his legs, where just yesterday there had been large patches of irritated red burns and several serious gashes. Caralack was right; his injuries had healed. He was in awe of the restoration of his arm, once broken, now fully mended.

He also noticed, after a moment or two of examining his condition that the ropes had vanished from his wrists. They were replaced by two metal bracelets with six small silver squares encircling each cuff.

"Ahh, the bracelets," resumed Caralack, "They have a duo purpose. They can _attract_," Suddenly, Tim's arm's swung together, sticking at the wrists like magnets, "and _retract_," The metal bracelets unlinked and Tim's hands fell apart, "for multiple purposes." He turned and walked towards the door.

It was horribly unwise for Caralack to turn his back on the Boy Wonder.

Tim, taking advantage of this spontaneous opportunity without restraints, sprung on the alien. Caralack, though, had transpired to be anything _but_ a stupid alien—no, Caralack was in fact a very _clever _alien.

Searing pain encased Robin's form and he crippled to the floor in agony. Electrical pulses surged endlessly from the metal cuffs on his wrists so that his hands could not claw at the origin of the torture, but merely lay limp on the floor, unable to even make an attempt at suppressing the horrid pain.

"You have discovered the second purpose." Caralack's voice pulsed in his ear as the alien left the room. "I will be waiting outside to escort you to your next destination. You have ten minutes to change clothing Subject 1-02."

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_Reach Base 13A_

_18 September 2017 [0551 hours]_

It took a good several minutes for Tim to finally stir. It seemed he was completely content staring at the bright glow of the red ceiling counting the stars swirling around the room. Nevertheless, it would only be a few more moments before Caralack would enter the room, promptly notice his presence on the ground, and most likely send another thousand watts of electricity through his spine. Therefore, with much reluctance, he dragged himself off of the floor and over to the grey capsule. Quickly noticing a small button in the center, Tim opened the compartment.

Inside was a simple pair of black pants, much like his own, a grey t-shirt, and black boots. Tim, of course, would also wear his mask that was still placed over his eyes. It was critical that his identity remain secret. Though, if the Reach really had taken over, there wasn't much danger in secret identities anymore.

There must not have not been much time left after he had changed and opened the door to exit the room, as Caralack immediately started moving.

Tim was forced to follow when two REACH agents urged him forward on either side and another agent trailed him from behind. He was ready to elbow one in the gut before Caralack interrupted.

"Do not fight them, earthling. You will only inflict further damage upon yourself."

Tim silently agreed with this statement (as he was weakened, weaponless, and outnumbered) and began to walk behind Caralack as a chance to scope out the building for an escape route.

The boots were much too big, he noticed almost instantly. Every time he would take a step forward, the heel of the shoe would gradually slip off his ankle and return to its original position when the floor would come into contact.

The aggravation of this conflict subsiding, his attention was averted to other subjects. For instance, there was an unfamiliar alien walking in perfect coordination beside Caralack. Besides being slightly shorter and skinnier (and by, of course, Tim's limited view, as he was walking a foot or two behind the two aliens), he could have been Caralack's twin.

'_Must be the new intern,'_ thought Tim.

They turned a sharp corner leading into a thinner hallway. Before Tim could examine the strange tiling siding the walls, the two aliens turned once again and stopped at the end of the hallway. Caralack pressed his long finger unto a small button, and almost instantly the doors swung open.

No words were spoken. Caralack continued walking into the room.

Maybe it was the dark grey walls closing them in, or maybe it was the faint sound of screaming that reverberated in Robin's ears, but something made the room a musty, dark one. As he passed by, Tim noticed the rectangular rooms branching off the main route in the large "Training Quarters," as he had read off the door just before they entered.

Caralack turned around so promptly Tim almost collided with him. Catching himself and using the momentum to propel his balance back in place, he stared at Caralack as if he wasn't at all curious about the content of the rectangular room beside him.

"This," Caralack began, eying Tim with a cold glare that wasn't even close to measuring up to the Bat Glare (he had obviously not noticed or cared about Tim not removing his mask), "is Tarcol. He is training to be a Guide. He will be assisting me as part of the training process."

Tim looked at Tarcol, who was wearing an unreadable expression as if he had been instructed to do so before hand.

It must have been a good enough introduction for Caralack, because he then opened the door to the rectangular room and continued inside with Tarcal following. Tim considered running for possibly a second, but determined it was completely illogical considering the complicated building routes and Reach aliens posted at every corner (not mentioning that the metal cuffs had hitched back together immediately after he exited his room). So with no other option, he too stepped inside. The proceeding second, Caralack spoke once again.

"This will be your training unit. Instruction will be provided by Gorlac. He will be explaining your first exercise."

Gorlac was about a head shorter than Caralack, and about three times as wide. His scrunched expression gave Tim the impression that he had drunken spoiled milk a few minutes prior. His eyes were so small and embedded into the lines of his face that Tim wasn't sure Gorlac was looking at him, but when a hole opened near the bottom of his face and a deep voice rumbled out of his throat, Tim's attention was averted back on the situation at hand.

"You have already been informed that you will be beginning on the last level of training in the H.A.R.D. program?" Tim wasn't sure if it was a question in the monotonous way he asked it. It was soon clear that it was, in fact, a question when Caralack nodded and Gorlac continued. "The Reach have the support of the majority of the human population, though some remain immune to the secret additive infused in our products. _Those_ humans require immediate subdual. Today, you will be performing a simulation where you will engage and terminate an earthling protest against Reach rule. You will be expected to complete this mission successfully, and if done so, will be immediately promoted to the second sublevel." Gorlac motioned to the door connected to the wall separating the room into two. There was a large screen on the wall projecting a blank picture of whatever lay beyond the door. Large rectangular keyboards with thousands of small buttons lay before it on a futuristic shelf hooked to the dark grey wall.

"You may enter now," urged Caralack, who was quickly becoming impatient.

Tim wasn't sure he was completely apt to do so. Did they really expect him to cooperate so easily?

"I don't think you understand," said Caralack.

"I understand," replied Robin, glaring at the alien, "you want me to fight innocent people… for _you_."

There was a moment where Caralack stared at Tim, his eyes slits, picking out his next words very carefully.

"I guess we will have to change your view on _innocence_." He didn't even look at the intern when he said, "Tarcol, please hit the button."

Tim didn't look at Tarcol either; the tension between him and Caralack was so intense he couldn't dare to break the glare he had on him.

'_But the button,'_ thought Tim, _'isn't that—'_

A suppressed scream escaped his mouth as a low moan as he struggled to remain standing. Electrical pulses surged through his veins once again. He blinked constantly, his eyes furiously watering at the agony encasing his body. Completely focused on pretending he wasn't being tortured to death, he almost didn't hear Caralack's calm voice over the blood pumping in his ears.

"The pain will stop, Subject 1-02, when you enter the simulation room."

'_What would Batman do? Nightwing…Batgirl…'_ he thought to himself. And suddenly, the situation became clear. _'These people were the ones that killed Batgirl, and now they expect me to willingly work for them? They deserve to… to…'_

"Nn-o" It was a slurred 'no,' through clenched teeth preventing a scream to rip through his throat, but it was a 'no' nonetheless.

"You'll kill him," said Tarcol after a moment, who had been completely silent until this moment.

"If that is his choice, it is out of my hands," replied Caralack to his assistant.

"But you nee-"

"Silence Tarcol," interrupted Caralack, "You have no authority to question me."

Tarcol fell silent and Tim was left with nothing but the agonizing pain pouring over his body.

'_Can't scream'_ he told himself, _'can't give them satisfaction…'_

Moments passed. There was a sigh, and Robin's defiance appeared to have paid off as the electrical shocks ceased from the metal cuffs binding his wrists together.

He wasn't completely conscience, but he was fairly certain that someone dragged him inside the room and shut the door with such a loud noise that it made Robin's head explode in pain. It was only a few moments before a single shock opened his eyes and caused him to most reluctantly drag himself up into a standing position.

As his heavy breathing filled his lungs with air, his eyes scoped the virtual reality of the simulation. It could have been a street of Gotham for all the darkness and gloom filling every inch of air.

'_Is this what the world looks like now?'_ Tim asked himself.

After walking a few steps and frequently steadying himself from the aftereffects of extreme electricity exposure, he caught sight of the protest. He counted ten—no, eleven—people fighting against four Reach soldiers. Once he had reached the quarrel, Robin immediately delved into the fight.

Despite Tim's lack of staff and utility belt (not considering the hunger tugging at his stomach, as he had not been given any food for as long as he was captured), he nailed one of the aliens in the face, swiftly kicked him in the gut and sent him to the ground.

'_You're just lu—'_

A scream pierced through the cool air. Excruciating pain burst inside of Robin's head and twisted it back into place.

'_The people do not realize that the Reach are not their enemy,' _recited Tim to himself,_ 'the Reach are their friends. The people need to be taught what's right—the Reach is what's right.'_

The agonizing strain wisped away as if nothing had ever caused Robin to fall to his knees and grasp his head through his ruffled black hair.

'_They're messing with my mind,' _realized Tim, slowly getting to his feet and watching the protest continue. He had to make a decision quick, though, because any second the long finger of Caralack or the stubby finger of Gorlac would push a button and his head would explode in agony. Good thing Batman always taught him to think fast.

'_The people aren't real, Tim, they're not real.' _he repeated in an attempt to suppress the guilt welling up in his stomach as he punched a man in the face and tripped another lady with short hair and ripped jeans. He front flipped and embedded his feet into the chest of a tall brunette, propelling himself backwards and knocking over another protester. He turned to his left to throw a blow at the fifth civilian, who collapsed to the floor.

Robin then spotted a silver glimmer in the corner of his eye and dodged a millisecond too late, he noticed, as a knife ripped deep into the right side of his face. He grabbed the dagger and whammed the handle into the weapon-carrier's head just hard enough so the illusion would crumple to the ground, unconscious.

He took out the last two within seven seconds.

He fell to his knees within the next three.

Tim's eyes latched on to a crack in the blood-stained road. His mind, though, was other places.

'_One, two, three,' _he was subconsciously counting the protesters he already had taken down. There were eleven in total. Recalling the events of the past few minutes, he continued the count, _'four, five'_ He had used one protester to propel himself unto another, _'six,' _One had given him a deep cut below his eye, and the last two. _'That makes eight… plus the two already taken out by the time I had arrived. So that's ten. Which means…'_

A split millisecond later, he had spun around and caught the wrist of young blonde who couldn't have been much older than twenty. Her hand occupied a sharp dagger with a long glistening blade.

It was inevitable that the two would make eye contact. Despite the fact that she was a mere illusion, her emerald eyes triggered a sense of familiarity within Tim. And something about them made it seem like this was all actually _real_.

"Kill her, Subject 1-02," Gorlac's rumbling voice reverberated around the simulation through some sort of sound system embedded in the walls. "Kill her and you will receive a satisfactory score that will advance you to the next sublevel."

Warm blood streamed down his face from his stinging knife wound. Tim twisted the direction of the blade towards the girl.

'_I have principles, Tim, crucial principles'_ he heard Bruce's voice ring inside his head. It was the day he became the third Robin, _'No guns. No killing.' _

"Kill her."

Staring deep into the girl's eyes, Tim squinted and cocked his head. Something was familiar about her—_very_ familiar.

The white slits in Tim's black mask tripled in size.

"Miss Martian?"

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**A/N: HOLY PLOT TWIST, BATMAN! Gee, this is insanity! Review! ;)**


	3. Breaking Apart

**A/N: I can't believe there's only one episode left of Young Justice... and the League still hasn't returned! Glad to see Wally back, though. =D  
**

**I'll admit it. This chapter was terrible to write. Well, it **_**was**_**. Until I scrapped the whole thing and made it interesting. I think you'll like it now. ;) **

**I know you're probably wondering where Dick is in this story, because I did list him as one of the main characters. He's coming in chapter 5 or 6, but I haven't decided which one yet. Don't worry, though, he's coming.**

**And the story continues…**

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Chapter 3: Breaking Apart

_Training Sector C02  
_

_18 September 2017 [0700 hours]_

Tim couldn't help but feel a slight sense of relief that Dick and Barbara were not currently accompanying him. If they had witnessed the last two days, the two older heroes would have been extremely disappointed in their partner-in-crime.

'_Amateur mistakes,' _Tim scolded himself. Had he not only cooperated with the Reach and exhibited emotional weakness, he had compromised an ally's cover while under enemy watch.

The mistake had an instantaneous effect. His head throbbed with the familiar intense pain, pulling him into the surface of unconsciousness. As Tim released his grip on M'gann to grasp his head, the knife dropped with a clatter. Breaths were heavy and emotions were high when Tim caught the last seconds the simulation.

"B-but," Tim stuttered through clenched teeth, "you're… d-dead." He moved one hand from his head to push himself away from the impersonator.

A _wisp_. A _chink_. Her eyes were suddenly dull and her mouth went slack. Green skin and short red hair emerged from the pale emerald-eyed blonde.

After a moment frozen, M'gann fell forward. Her new position revealed a large black dart lodged in the back of her neck. Four Reach agents emerged from behind, grabbed her arms, and dragged her away.

Dragged _M'gann_ away.

"NOOO!" Tim screamed through the pain and confusion overtaking him into the darkness. As he outstretched his hand to his unconscious friend, he felt icy fingers across his chest and shoulders holding him back from engaging.

Tim had never resented the imminent darkness in all of his life as much as this moment.

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_Reach Base 13A_

_18 September 2017 [Estimated Time: 1200 hours]_

It was very possible that hours had passed since he had awoken inside the luminous red room. His eyes were latched to the door, ready to pounce the moment Caralack entered. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time he blinked away from his point of interest.

He hadn't woken in restraints. It was peculiar, yes, but Tim was certain that even if his metal bracelets were connected, he would have had the rage to break free.

Several times a Reach agent entered the room, engaged in a small brawl with the Boy Wonder (that almost every time ended with an unbearable dose of electric shocks), either refilled his glass of water or supplemented his 'closet' with a new set of clothing, and left before Tim could escape through the narrow doorway.

His knuckles were raw and bleeding from pounding against the metal barrier that separated him from answers. Tim leaned his back against the door, rested his head back, and stretched out his legs before him.

He swore he was going mad. Mind racing with distorted memories and confused theories, the once-clear vision of M'gann was slowly fading away. He told himself that there were plenty of rational explanations behind it. Because that's what Robins are supposed to do—analyze, hypothesize, and engage.

He had, of course, _analyzed_ the situation innumerable times in an attempt to somehow derive crucial indications to a solution. Hypotheses soon followed. Miss Martian could have slipped past the aliens in an endeavor to save Tim. She could have been brainwashed and forced to work with the Reach.

But every theory was designated impossible.

'_M'gann is dead.'_

He squeezed his eyes shut and let out a deep breath. The hunger that was painfully present but a few hours ago had substantially subsided. His throat, however, remained dry and rough. Eying the cup of water that Tim had ignored since he first awoke, he decided that it wouldn't do him any good to die of thirst before Caralack finally faced him.

It was improbable that they would have drugged the water when they intended to use Tim as a weapon, anyways. The risk of the water containing the "nutrients" included in the commercialized Reach products, however, was high, but Tim determined the risk worth it.

His limbs were shaking with exhaustion, and he had developed a slight twitch due to the electricity, but Tim managed to drag himself from the floor and over the side table beside his—_the _bed.

When his fingers wrapped around the glass, he realized that it wasn't _glass_ at all. Instead, the cup was made of a transparent plastic insulator.

Tim half-snickered, half-coughed. _'Glass breaks. Glass shards are sharp. Sharp things can cut through restraints… and alien skin.' _As he lifted the water to his mouth, his ears perked to indicate a detected noise.

The door swung open. Two identical guards entered the room, their steps in uniform, and walked towards the Boy Wonder.

Tim raised an eyebrow, hoping for better results than the past few brawls with the guards.

He hurled the cup of lukewarm water at the first Reach alien, then spun to bestow the second guard a kick to the gut. An arm wrapped around Tim's neck to lock his head against the original (wet) guard's stomach, but Tim grabbed its wrist and wrenched the alien over his head and unto its back. The second alien recovered quickly from the first blow and dived into the fight. A strong force, much resembling the collision of a brick wall, thrust him backwards and pinned him to a wall. His vision had gone blurry after hitting his head against the solid surface behind him, and it took him a few seconds for his sight to return clear. A few seconds too long, he realized, when the second alien reinforced the first's grip on Tim's shoulders and wrists. He struggled against their hold, but Tim was too weak to break it.

A tall, green alien strolled into view. Tarcol was not with him. The guards had been sent in to restrain Tim before Caralack entered. Though they had not needed to use it to overpower Robin, they were refraining from using electrical shocks. Perhaps they wished Tim fully conscious when Caralack began speaking.

Tim, though, was the first to talk.

"You lied," he hissed at the alien, "Miss Martian isn't dead_. The Team_ isn't dead_."_

Tim's heart rose for a moment at the thought of Batgirl alive. Impulse, Miss M, Blue Beetle, and Beast Boy _alive_.

Caralack's placid expression was unfaltered. "Earthling, you have misunderstood the situation at hand."

"Misunderstood?" Tim pushed forward, but the guards held him back against the wall, "I know what I saw! And last time I checked, Martians don't have the power to come back as ghosts. She's alive. They're _all_ alive."

Tim may have expected an immediate response from the alien, but he didn't get one. Instead, Caralack seemed to inspect him for a moment before responding. "You were experiencing the effects of illusion gas. What you saw was a hallucination. It was a test to assess your ability to detect dangerous gasses and your immunity towards succumbing into their impact. You failed."

Tim glared at Caralack for a moment, considering the truth of the statement.

"Don't believe me," asked Caralack, holding up a small black remote control, "this is video footage of the simulation." Suddenly, a holographic screen appeared above the remote. The perspective of the camera was from the corner of the ceiling with a bird's eye view on Tim, who was on his knees and holding the wrist of a young blonde. There were ten bodies on the ground around them. A blood puddle formed at his feet. The camera must have been able to pick up simulation holographs too.

Tim watched as the screen displayed his mouth moving to form the words "Miss Martian", but there was no audio to confirm it. The knife dropped a moment later, and he gripped his head, as if he was encased in a terrible pain. But he couldn't hear his screams.

Tim frowned at the surveillance video. He knew what happened. He didn't need to confirm it. He waited for the girl to stiffen, to turn green, to turn into his teammate.

But it never happened.

"What?" Tim murmured under his breath as he watched himself on the screen push away from the girl. A handprint of blood formed on the cement as he lifted his arm to his head once again. A moment later though, he was reaching forward to grasp the air. He waved his arm in front of him, but he seemed to have been held back by invisible hands, because he never engaged. He slumped to the ground, unconscious.

No dart. No guards. No M'gann.

"As you may have noticed," the alien deactivated the screen and pocketed the remote control, "no one was in the Simulation Room."

"No," Tim told Caralack in disbelief of the video, "Miss Martian was _there!_"

"Impossible. The walls of the Training Quarters were constructed to be impenetrable by shape shifters." Caralack cleared his throat. "That would, though, be entailing that said subject is _alive_. The gas triggered intense chemical reactions in the hippocampus of your brain that led you to believe what you were experiencing was reality."

Tim scowled at Caralack. _'His facial features don't indicate lying, though as part of the Reach, they must get used to lying to the public. Maybe he's telling the truth. Maybe he's lying through his teeth. Either way, I have to know.'_

"I was not aware that the first reaction a human has to tragedy is denial." Caralack paced around the room for a moment, then walked towards Robin and positioned his head close to his so Tim was forced to make eye contact. The red glow turned the alien's green skin blue. "As this will interfere with your training, you will be expected to overcome this emotion immediately."

Tim's burning hatred for Caralack seemed to be growing by the second. His face was so close to his that is was tempting to spit in it. And if he had any moisture in his mouth he might have. Tim rubbed his dry tongue against the roof of his mouth. He really wished he had drunken the water when he had the chance.

"Perhaps that this," Caralack lifted his thin green hand up to Robin's black mask. Tim didn't flinch, "is a memento of your _past_. Removing it may… relieve you of any grief and," he peeled a corner of the mask from Tim's face, "open your _eyes_ to a brighter future."

Tim moved his head to the right and shielded his face with the guards shoulder. An icy hand, though, gripped his chin and forced his head towards Caralack once again. The guards' grip on his shoulders and wrists were so tight they cut into his skin, but he forced himself not to cringe in pain.

Tim scowled at Caralack as he reached for his mask once again.

"If you do not wish me to remove your mask, then I will not." He returned his hands to his side, "It does not interfere; it is insignificant."

Tim silently sighed in relief.

"You are in no condition presently to continue training. With the proper nutrients and a night's rest, however, you will be able to resume the H.A.R.D. program tomorrow morning."

The guards released their grip on Tim's wrists to let the metal bracelets attach, then regained hold on both hands. Caralack pressed an apple against the palm of his hand. Tim looked at it for a moment, admiring its bright red color and imagining the juicy flesh burst inside his dry mouth. His hunger soon returned and he hoped none of the aliens heard his stomach growl.

"Eat. The Reach prides its well developed fruit products on their taste."

The comment only enforced the reality of the situation. The Reach genetically enhanced their products _with harmful additives_.

He looked up at Caralack. And dropped the apple to the floor.

Caralack narrowed his eyes, though by his lack of expression, he expected Tim do react this way.

"Guards, please proceed."

Tim hissed when a needle was suddenly inserted into his right shoulder. He bit the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from making any further indications of distress and blinked away the moisture collecting in his eyes.

"If you will not _willingly_ ingest essential provisions, we are forced to revert to extreme tactics."

Silence followed as the needle was taken from Tim's arm. Caralack seemed to have completed whatever mission he had walked through the door to tackle, and began walking towards the exit.

Tim, on the other hand, was unsatisfied.

"Wait," he breathed.

Caralack turned, eyebrows raised and eyes dull.

"Prove it." His body may have been limp against the guards' grip, but his face was contorted with anger. "Prove to me that they're here."

Caralack was quick to object. "This is co—"

"I want to see Nightwing," Tim interrupted.

"Earthling, have you no concept of authority? You are not the one giving orders. _You_ cooperate at _our_ command."

"Or what?," Tim spat, "die? I'd rather drop _dead_ than support the Reach."

"That is why, Subject 1-02, you have not been given a choice. We won't let you die. There is only one option here." Caralack's cool words slipped off his tongue. "Your friends are dead. Those who are not, abide under a strict program. They have cooperated. In time, so shall you." The alien nodded to the guards.

It was difficult to suppress a grunt after such a powerful collision with his jaw. Stars swirled before his eyes. Tim felt the guards release him and the solid impact of the chilled floor against his sore shoulder. He rolled over, unsteadily pushed himself into a half-sitting-half-leaning position, and narrowed his eyes against the spinning world.

"Never," he attempted to say, but his throat was clogged and he spat blood.

He dropped his arms from their support and lay against the ground, careful to avoid the blood stains inches away from his resting position. He began to rub his jaw, but every simple movement seemed to trigger a series of sharp explosions. What was the chance, he thought to himself, that the substance they injected into his shoulder had an infusion of healing essence?

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_Reach Sector A01_

_18 September 2017 [1300 hours]_

"The Earthling?" The tone was hard, but the voice had a soft nature, as if it was just as simple for him to retain a friendly manner as to order an execution.

"He will cooperate." Caralack stood far from the mysterious figure who faced towards a large surveillance screen at the back of the room. There was silence, but Caralack remained in his position.

"Yes, Caralack?"

"I am sorry to say that there is a small problem. He requested a visit from one of his former teammates."

"I see…" he turned and a shadow was lifted from his green skin, "I presume you handled the situation?"

"Of course," Caralack said quickly, "The issue will be resolved by morning."

There was a sigh. "He does not, as the humans say, 'have any idea' of the magnitude of the situation that he's entwined in."

Caralack's lips formed a respectful smile.

"Not an inkling, Ambassador."

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**A/N: You think you know what their plan might be? Tell me what you think! :)**


	4. Breaking the Silence

**A/N: First Saturday survived post cancellation. So many more to go... =(**

**Okay, so I really was going to post this last week, but then they KILLED OFF WALLY, and I figured we all needed a week to recover ;). **

**I'll warn you now. Tim's still TIM. He's just in the process of... determining the most logical reaction to his situation. The story's about to get crazy from here on out, so be ready for an emotional roller coaster!**

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Chapter 4: Breaking the Silence

If you had asked any cape bearing 6-year-old child on the streets of Gotham to name someone they admired, they would grin (with several teeth missing, of course), place two fists on their hips, and exclaim, "Batman!"

Though, on a rare occasion, when the sun is caressed into a pool of fog overlooking the city, a little girl or boy may answer, "Robin."

Perhaps both heroes may erupt in the conversation.

If you then asked them for the reason behind their impulsive response, they would dive into the wonders of the legendary Gotham Bats. Invincible, one would say, indefatigable, invulnerable.

But even the Police Commissioner of Gotham forgets that the only difference separating any civilian from the Dynamic Duo is a thin strip of black fabric over their eyes. Their bones can be broken and their hearts can stop beating. The people of the city forget, perhaps, that they are anything _but _legendary. In fact, both the Caped Crusader and the Boy Wonder are _quite_ human.

_Robin_ is only human.

And it only took one week to break him.

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_Training Sector D04_

_25 September 2017 [1600 hours]_

The looming shadows are feared by many, including some of the most prevailing hard hitters of the Justice League—considered a danger, a weakness, even. Who could survive in an environment in which you are unaware of what situation lays beyond or around? An environment which eliminates both trust and defensive tactics? An environment, in fact, that only a creature of two webbed wings and deep brown ears could ever thrive in—a creature of the night.

As part of the Bat Family, one of the first things he learned as Robin was to befriend the darkness…

The thin rubber sole of his shoe was a poor insulator against the icy flooring of the Training Sector. He kept rearranging his position, slowly rotating counter clockwise and pausing for a moment at 6 o' clock. His hands were in a ready position before him.

"_People rely too heavily on sight,"_ he remembered Bruce saying on his first week of training, _"a variable that can too easily be manipulated."_ The Dark Knight had thrown a blindfold at Tim's feet_. "There are four other senses that are disregarded in fighting techniques. Today you will learn that the darkness is your ally."_

It seemed inevitable that with darkness, came silence. A hollow ringing of nothingness crept through the bowls of the exercise. Moving slowly but with precision, Tim was not about to contribute to the breaking of the silence.

_*Crink*_

Tim spun to the left and caught the arm of an attacker. Snapping it against his own knee, he savored the scream for a moment, before thrusting his elbow into the pressure point of his opponent's neck.

'_Break or Be Broken.'_

A wisp of air brushed past Tim's ear as he dodged a punch from behind. Turning to 12 o' clock, he delivered a clean open-handed hit in between the enemy's ribs. A breathless gasp and a few cracks later, a clunk signified the attacker's position on the floor.

'_Break or Be Broken.'_

He flipped backwards, landing silently into a squat and swinging his leg around to trip another opponent. Pulling him against his own front and wrapping an arm around his chest, the former Boy Wonder snapped the attacker's neck.

'_Break or Be Broken.'_

Tim let out a deep breath, released his grip on his attacker and watched the body slump to the floor.

"Twenty-one point six seconds."

Squinting his eyes against the bright light that now illuminated the room, he stood to face the tall alien advancing towards him.

"A new record," Caralack added, "Perhaps we shall add another three assailants in the next exercise?"

Tim casually nodded and looked dazedly over Caralack's shoulder. His figure was incredibly straight and well balanced, but his mind had become a wandering stupor within the last seven days.

His father had once told him that physical health was only fifty percent of survival. The other half was _will_, the _want _to see the next sunrise, and the _hope _that it will come. Without it, you were not living in the same way as a bird flying North—you couldn't live at all.

You couldn't fly.

Caralack's voice emerged as a prompt order.

"Follow me."

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The hallway was twenty three steps long and broke off into three rooms at the end. Tim almost felt like a hamster in a chute when he walked through the abnormally narrow hallways of the Reach Base. The close walls and ceilings were threatening at first, but after a week navigating through their limited space, it was comforted Tim to remember the tiny side channels of the Bat Cave he investigated during his free time.

Caralack turned and entered the room farthest to the right, and Tim followed close behind. Two guards walked at either side of him, in case he tried to escape, though it hadn't happened since the first training simulation a week ago.

"You are relieved," Caralack said to the guards once they walked through the open doorway. Tim expected them to retreat into the hallway, but instead they (along with two other guards, who must have been positioned inside prior to Tim's entry) separated into the four corners of the room.

Caralack stood in the center of the square formed by the four Reach agents, with Gorlac to his left, who Tim had not noticed enter the room. To his right, lay a small black box with a silver latch that reflected the dim light of the dark grey room. The table that it rested on appeared short and unproportional when Caralack's tall figure stood next to it.

"When we first tackled the challenge to open your eyes, Subject 1-02, we were quite aware of the difficulty that would inevitably follow." Tim could sense a hint of pride lacing his tone. The fact that Caralack thought he had accomplished a great feat when he created a killer of a 14-year-old boy made Tim want to shatter that pleasure in pieces the first chance he got. He was cooperating with little resistance, _yes_. But it would be illogical to do anything otherwise.

Caralack continued, brushing his long fingers over the textured skeleton of the box, "However, we were not aware of the psychical development you would soon embrace. That said, we congratulate you for the well-appreciated decision of cooperating with the Reach. You will soon be exposed to the large picture of the Reach's elaborate plan to extend our friendship even further into the universe, and will be rewarded for your cooperation." He gripped the case with a hand on either side and positioned it lower than his waist so that Tim could see the top even when he tilted it sideways. He balanced the box with a hand from underneath while the other curled around the large latch and released it from its hook. "We believe you are ready for the next level, Subject 1-02."

Caralack opened the box.

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_Training Sector D04_

_25 September 2017 [1630 hours]_

Sometimes one is able to walk into a room, shoot someone between the eyes, walk out, and never feel anything. The key, perhaps, to not comprehending your situation is to avoid reflecting back on what happened. If you don't think about it, you'll only focus on what's next instead of the mistakes you've just made.

Tim felt this way.

But the second Caralack lifted the cover from the case and revealed the content, something broke through the emotional barrier he built six feet thick and sent him face first into reality.

He didn't ask for permission to advance; almost instinctively, he reached for the small cylindrical object and gripped it between his fingers, slowly moving it from the black fabric interior of the box. There must have been some sort of foam lining the walls of the case, because a dent was left where the silver weapon had been resting.

Tim's eyes were wide with subtle surprise when he put pressure on the single black ring around the silver exterior. Its motion was swift and quick as it expanded to its full form. His hands found their place near the tip of one end and the other in the center, like he had rehearsed this moment for weeks. Warm familiarity spread from his fingers to his ankles. The corners of his mouth twitched, as if attempting a smile. It felt like years since he had last held one of these.

"We are well informed of your particular skill in this weapon, and believe that you will have an improved and efficient training process with one." Gorlac explained, eyes latched to the staff clutched in the boy's hands. "There is one improvement that differs from the original, however—one that will prove to be very… effective in combat."

Tim's index finger brushed over a protruding button next to the black ring, and firmly pressed the small red surface.

There was a slicing sound, like a sword in the air, and suddenly the weight shifted in his hands. When he looked back at the staff, there were thin double edged blades that tapered equally into a single tip protruding from both sides.

Caralack was smiling, but Tim wasn't looking at him, or the guards who stood less than six feet away. He was being a Robin—analyzing, hypothesizing, and engaging.

He lurched forward—but not towards Caralack, who threw out the names of his dead friends like they were items on a grocery list, who taunted him for his emotional instability, who sent electrical shocks through him without a second thought, who brought a young man into the red glowing room and tortured Tim until he would snap the civilian's neck—No, not towards Caralack.

To the alien's left.

He drove the sharp blade into Gorlac's stomach. A scream tore from the victim's throat and spread through the room like melting ice. Warm blood flowed over Tim's hand as he twisted the staff clockwise and heard the yell skyrocket in pitch.

He may have hated Caralack, but Gorlac taught him how to kill. It would have been too big of all loss to sacrifice Caralack. Tim had already analyzed him to the point of formulas and patterns, and having his guide replaced would only force him to start his plan from scratch. But Gorlac's death would be a warning to the Reach that their plan wasn't flawless.

And maybe it was more for Tim—maybe he thought that one simple act of defiance would somehow make the weight in his heart lighten, like he wasn't a traitor to his family, yet.

He forced the adrenaline pumping through his veins to settle. He noticed Gorlac's small eyes widen with alert when he locked eye contact. The alien was just lucky that he didn't stab him through the heart. Tim had known he would live through this.

When guards took hold of his arms, Tim fought the urge to fight back and let them pry the staff from his hands. His mission was complete. Caralack was correct: The blades _were_ effective in combat.

Once the weapon was released, Gorlac's body slumped to the floor. No one seemed interested in Gorlac anymore, though.

"Y-rr en-bl mmm!" Tim grunted through the arms of guards pushing him downward. His knees gave out and he fell forward, using his arms to prop himself into a kneeling forward position. One Reach alien kicked him in the stomach, and he rolled over on his back, waiting for the electrical shocks to come and claim his body.

And for a moment, he doubted as to whether stabbing Gorlac was the most logical move. Maybe his Robin 6th sense had disappeared the second Caralack told him his friends were dead and the world was under the control of an alien planet. He couldn't stop them then, why would he think that he could stop them now?

Blue electricity spark from the metal cuffs he wore on his wrists.

Maybe it wasn't worth it.

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_Reach Base 13A_

_25 September 2017 [2100 hours]_

"You were given the honor of a Reach-made weapon, and you choose to misuse it."

Caralack's voice must have died in the air before it reached Tim's ears, because he wasn't hearing any of it. By the stance of the alien and the way his eyebrows furrowed, Robin caught the gist of the lecture.

"Yeah?" Tim spat softly at the alien, "It seems like I'm acting exactly like the person you want me to become. _Exhibiting traits of a blood thirsty assassin_. Or are you just figuring out that you're creating a monster?" He sat at the foot of his bed, his elbows on his knees, and his hands latched by the metal cuffs fell between his legs.

Caralack's eyes, which had been grazing the ceiling, found Tim. "Subject 1-02," he smiled, "we know exactly what we're cultivating."

There was a silence, filled only by the death glare between Tim and Caralack. Tarcol stood awkwardly behind his master.

"You are very lucky the blade did not penetrate an artery, or Gorlac's murder would be on your hands."

"Like every other," Tim mumbled to himself, eying the dried blood staining his hands that he hadn't bothered to peel off. Its presence, along with the weight of his killings, clung to him like a second skin.

Caralack must have not heard the comment. "Am I correct, Tarcol?"

"Oh," the short alien was caught off guard, "Y-yes. Very much so." Was that sympathy in his eyes?

"However," Caralack continued, "your previous assessment is accurate. Your physical training is almost complete. Perhaps we should focus on establishing the line between your friends and your enemies."

'_That line is clear,'_ he thought to himself, but let silence linger in the red room. He just wanted to be alone.

"I would like to hear a yes, Subject 1-02."

Tim remained silent, eyes locked on the floor.

"I do not think you heard me, Subject 1-02," Caralack pressed, "Do you agree?"

Tim felt like his skin was falling apart. Electricity surged through his body, and he knew how to stop it.

"Y-y…es-s," he hissed. He pressed the metal cuffs between his legs and pulled, trying to pry them off.

"Yes… who, Subject 1-02?"

Tim blinked the water from his eyes. The aliens before him were blurry and distorted.

"I-inst-ru-uc..tor," spat Tim, hunched over.

Caralack nodded his head, a cruel smile etched on his face. "Training will continue tomorrow morning."

When footsteps left the room in a hush, Tim let his head bury into the palms of his hands. With his eyes in darkness, his ears pricked to the gentle sound of another set of lungs. He looked up, and his eyes met with Tarcol.

His calm eyes were set on the far corner of the room. His mouth counted the seconds, and when he reached thirteen, he stepped to the side, focus on Tim once again.

"I can help you," he said, words soft but precise.

That was the last thing Tim expected to hear out of another Reach alien's mouth. Confused, his words stumbled over each other.

"Wha—wh—… what?" He said breathlessly, waiting for a response.

"Look, we only have one minute fourteen seconds-"

Tim interrupted, "How do you know?"

Tarcol sighed, talking faster by the second, "I set a virus in the system to overlap video footage on the thirteenth second of this hour. I needed to talk to you."

Tim didn't know how to respond, so he let Tarcol lead the conversation.

"I know you might think otherwise, but not all the Reach that came to Earth had the intention to gain control. Three of the forty-two on each ship are part of an organization to stop the Reach's territorial advance in the universe. I'm one of them."

Tim raised an eyebrow. None of this was making any sense…

"And I'm going to help you escape. Take this," His eyes flickered up to the camera as he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a roll of blue paper, "it's the blueprints of the ship. Hide it in your boot. I'll talk to you again to set the escape route."

Tim accepted the blueprints, slowly unraveling it. What he was met with, was white diagrams scrawled over rough parchment. Rough dimensions were written in a language he could not read. One thing was clear, however, from the increasing and decreasing size of the five floors that made up Base 13A.

It was an enormous sphere.

"Remember, _your boot_." Tarcol stressed, counting the seconds again.

Tim looked up from the blueprints, rolled them again, and slipped it into his right shoe.

He had only been captured once before. Kidnapper: the Riddler. The count could have honestly been in the dozens after a year in the suit, but both Bruce and Dick made Tim stay clear of the Joker in the weeks he had broken through the weak security of Arkam.

One month after the third Robin made his first appearance in Gotham City, he had separating from Batman on a hunch of the location of Riddler's hideout. Unfortunately for him, he was attacked from behind by three of the villain's goons. He woke to rope restraints and a green gun to his forehead.

If he was worried about anything in the forty-eight hours that followed, it was the fear of Bruce firing him for being so unprepared too early in his crime fighting career. With a broken leg and a three inch thick questions mark through his right shoulder, he was fully aware of his limited ability to overpower the dozen goons that surrounded him before facing the Riddler himself. Despite the situation, there was one thing that kept his eyes pried open when he started to succumb to the pain. The hope—no, it was stronger than hope. It was _knowing_ that Batman and Nightwing would break through that wooden door any moment and save him.

This time was different. There was no hope, no anticipation of the team rescuing him from the cold glare of Caralack. The Team was dead. The remaining super heroes were either in the same predicament as his team, or in space.

It was him and the Reach. It was either surrender and live fighting against those he fought for, or stand up and live fighting a never ending battle against the indefatigable.

But had to live either way.

And, as his father told him, you need hope to live.

Tarcol knew exactly what Tim was thinking—how did he know he could trust him? "Oh, and one more thing." He tossed two transparent squares of thin plastic unto Tim's lap. On them, were the long fingerprints of a certain tall alien used to unlock any door in the entire base.

Hope.

"You can call this," said Tarcol, "my initiation."

And he was gone.

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**A/N: Enjoyed the chapter? Review!**

**But before you do, I have a trivia question! Think you know the Bat Family? Answer this (we'll start off easy):**

_**Trivia Question 1: What street were Bruce Wayne's parents murdered on?**_


	5. Breaking Out Pt 1

**A/N: Last week's trivia question may have been a little too easy. The street Bruce Wayne's parents were murdered on is now called **_**Crime Alley**_**. Great job **_**GSDLover1623**__**, **__**irisgoddess**__**, **__**Ooo-shiny**__**, **__**Lakeshine**__**, **__**UndecidedGirl**__**, **_**and**_**theGirlNightwing**_**!**** This week's is a little harder ;)**

**Okay, so **_**no**_** Nightwing this week. I'M SO SORRY. I had honestly planned for him to come in the story earlier, but I had to move it back to fit other events in. I just wrote chapter 7, and that's when he makes his appearance. That's only two chapters away!**

**This chapter was originally one long intense action packed 4,000 plus words chapter. It felt kind of lengthy and dragged on, though, so I split it in half. **

**Enjoy!**

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Chapter 5: Breaking Out Pt. 1

_Training Sector D06_

_September 30 2017 [1100 hours]_

Five days worth of two minute meetings had accumulated a single red line through the bowls of the diagrammed Reach ship blueprints.

It was a fairly simple plan. If someone had asked Tim to explain it in three steps, it would be: 1) slip out of his room, 2) catch the elevator, and 3) run. The mission may have been straightforward, but the execution created a complicated set of overarching factors in the escape route. Not only had the Reach implemented a fingerprint-centric security system in the access of every room, but Tarcol had obtained the schedule of guard rounds that continuously occupied the one-way hallways of the base. Timing was critical.

And the date was set for the sixth of December.

"Subject 1-02," Caralack's voice sent a ripple through the training room. Tim's head lifted from the lifeless body at his feet. Taking a step over the man's legs, he walked to the center of the room, where Caralack stood. "I will be absent from your agenda for the remainder of the day."

If he had said the same statement two weeks ago, it would have been difficult For Tim to suppress a satisfied grin. However, Tim had learned to conceal his outward emotions quickly after waking to the Reach's control.

"Tarcol," Caralack continued, "will be assuming my duties. I believe that you will cooperate under his instruction while I am not present?"

'_You have no idea,' _Tim thought to himself, but settled with a nod.

Caralack smiled, "Ah. Tarcol will be escorting you to Sector C02, where we will continue your training session with Larc."

Tim clenched his teeth. Larc was his new training instructor. After one hour with his violence-is-the-key-to-learning teaching technique, Tim almost regretted stabbing Gorlac with the staff, which they had re-offered to the Boy Wonder three days prior.

Tim casually rubbed his jaw, where Larc had punched him the day before for not correctly executing an ancient kick technique. He wasn't looking forward to the next three hours. The only reason he had escaped the trainer this morning was because Caralack insisted on having a right-versus-wrong simulation to see where Tim mentally stood on his ethics.

Tarcol stepped out from Caralack's shadow and locked eye contact with Tim. If someone hadn't known they had formed an alliance, they would have considered Tarcol to have become just as ruthless as Caralack.

When the tall alien left the room, Tarcol began walking towards the opposite exit.

"Subject 1-02, follow me. Guards, follow behind."

Tim pursued when the metal cuffs linked together, two guards trailing behind.

The route to the main elevator from the Training Sector should have been twenty three steps long, but as Tim's count reached the forties, he was still walking.

A guard seemed to have noticed Tarcol's misdirection. He cleared his throat and muttered, "Tarcol, you passed the first elevator entrance already."

"Oh, did I?" said Tarcol, not turning to face the gutsy guard or slowing his path, "I guess we will have to use the side elevator."

"But the side elevator only fits two."

"Are you questioning my judgment, Cartle? Or were you not informed of the main elevator's glitch report this morning? Perhaps you would rather risk the subject's captivity than to walk an extra ten yards?"

Whenever Caralack was not present, it seemed as if the timid intern morphed into some sort of brutal superior. Perhaps this was part of the plan, to collect Tarcol enough respect to gain responsibility of Tim. Or maybe Tarcol's personality was really this unstable.

"N-no sir," the guard mumbled.

Tarcol stopped soon after, pressing his hand unto the square reader on the wall. The door swung open.

"The subject and I shall ascend first. We will wait for you on level C." Tarcol stepped into the small elevator, and Tim followed.

The guards may have considered interjecting and suggesting a guard to accompany Tim, but the last argument had ended badly on their part, and he betted they weren't about to take another chance.

"Level C," said Tarcol and the doors shut. The alien leaned forward, however, and pushed a small red button on the wall of the elevator. Tim was jolted forward with the sudden stop of movement. The lights switched off and returned as red.

"This specific elevator just happens not to have any secret cameras embedded into the ceilings, too." Tarcol smiled, breaking the silence in the small quarters. "We have two minutes, top."

"How are you going to explain a spontaneous electrical breakdown in one elevator?" Tim wouldn't have believed it two weeks ago, but when everyone is your enemy, you latch onto any person who isn't trying to break you. He considered Tarcol a _friend._

"I volunteered for glitch report duty this week," Tarcol sighed, "You're just lucky that's a requirement for Guide Interns, or you would owe me more than you already do."

Tim raised an eyebrow. "I didn't know we were keeping count. And I'm not exactly in the position to be offering my help to the aliens who _kidnapped_ me."

Tarcol rolled his eyes, focusing back on the minute that was left. "Look, I need to go over the route again with you. I just realized an adjustment that needs to be made."

Tim reached his hand into his right boot. He patted the rubber sides, but his hand returned empty. All the color drained from his face.

"It's gone."

Tarcol's expression was hard, like he had spotted his arch nemesis over Tim's shoulder. He was silent a moment, but he was aware of the ticking clock.

"Maybe it fell out when I took my boots off last night," Tim suggested.

"That's not the point. If you don't have it, then it's free game for Caralack. They would have spotted the blueprints on the camera footage if it had emerged from its hiding place in any room, any time." Tarcol sighed, "We're going to have to do it tonight."

Tim's eyes widened with bewilderment. "But we hadn't planned to execute the escape for another week! Is the plan solid enough?"

"It's going to have to be. It will only be a matter of hours before they realize what's going on. Do you remember the route?"

Tim was looking at the floor.

"Are you telling me that the infamous bat family doesn't have photographic memory?"

"Oh," Tim looked up, "I've memorized it enough. It's just… What am I going to do when I get—"

"_If _you get out. Just because you have a plan, doesn't mean it will become a successful escape."

Tim nodded. "Are you sure we don't have time to contact any of my Team?"

"Like I said before," Tarcol's voice quickened as the seconds ticked away, "This alone is practically a suicide mission. Getting out alive and recruiting an army is what needs to be done to overthrow this ship." He reached for the red button again, and turned the emergency stop mode off. The elevator returned to its white lights and continued its ascent to level C. "Tonight. 0200 hours. Be ready. I'll handle the video footage."

Tim's mind reverted back to the upcoming training session with Larc.

Tarcol must have understood his thoughts by the way he sighed, because the alien then said, "This would have been your last week of physical training. You're working on camouflage today."

Tim almost smiled. At least he had mastered that skill into in art form under the Bat's wing. "Haven't they realized that Bats have a born knack for slipping into the shadows?"

"Don't get too cocky. Who said it was in the dark?"

Tim's heart sunk into his stomach.

"Any advice?"

"Don't want to go back to your room needing a blood infusion?" Tarcol faced the elevator doors once again, "Don't get caught."

The elevator doors opened, and Tarcol and Tim exited the small space.

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_Reach Base 13A_

_September 30 2017 [0200 hours]_

Tim had overheard the time as 2300 hours from a conversation between two Reach aliens near the exit of the training sector. He had picked up on the common language, learning some general phrases and numbers. The fact that the Reach had considered it safe to speak a language not of Tim's origin was another flaw that he learned to take advantage of.

He had tried to count the seconds from that hour, but managed to doze off soon after reaching his bed. The training session with Larc had exhausted him to a state of collapse—another barrier that would withhold him from a successful escape.

It was difficult to pinpoint the exact time after losing count, but Tim had managed to surmise an approximate presumption. Since he assumed he had slept through the midnight round and hadn't heard the two o' clock check up yet, he was certain that Tarcol would be stepping through the door any minute.

The blueprints played over in his mind.

'_Tonight's the night,'_ he thought to himself. Having the escape date set for tonight saved him a week of murders on his conscious. It was possible that many of the victims were illusions or robots, but he wondered to himself whether he would have acted differently if he were aware they were civilians.

A subtle creek of an opening door interrupted Tim's thoughts.

'_He's here.'_

Shifting in position to eye the open doorway, Tim caught sight of Tarcol's head popped inside the room. Tim waited for a sign he should "wake up," not wanting to damage the security of the plan.

The door closed. Confused, Tim began to count the seconds again.

'_Three seconds, four seconds, five seconds…'_

A layer of silence fell over the room. The red glow of the dome shaped ceiling reflected off of his skin.

'_One minute sixteen seconds, one minute seventeen seconds…'_

He clutched a handful of blanket with his fingers. The natural coldness of the room seemed to be escalating by the moment. Why hadn't Tarcol returned?

'_Four minutes thirty-one seconds, four minutes thirty-two seconds…'_

"It's time," said a familiar voice.

Tim opened his eyes. When had he taken his sight away from the door? Quickly rolling off the bed, he stood, wincing at the prickling pain of fresh sore muscles from Larc's training session the day before.

"I'm ready," said Tim, noticing his unlinked bracelets.

Tarcol nodded and led Tim into the hallways of the Reach base. His hand skimmed the walls as both boy and alien sprinted through the tunnels. Slowing his pace, Tarcol turned and opened a skinny navy blue door that almost blended into the walls of the hallway.

"We have three minutes four seconds until the next guard passes. After him, you'll have under a minute to reach the elevator at the end of the hallway and get to level E. You know what to do from there." Tarcol's eyes remained on the small window near the center of the door. The small storage facility had acted as a safe house between Tim's room and the elevator. "But you're on your own from here on out. I have to get to the control room and handle the security cameras."

Tim nodded, leaning against the wall. "How do I know no one will enter the elevator while I'm inside?"

Tarcol didn't take his eyes off the window. "You don't." He shrugged. "Haven't you been learning how to take down an opponent this entire time?"

He had, but Tim hadn't been planning on this complication.

"Tarcol," Tim asked, filling the silence, "Why were they—the Reach—so intent on making me stronger?"

Tarcol turned to face him, his expression disclosing the extent of his knowledge. His eyes grazed the air, as if trying to find the words to explain something in a few sentences that should take much longer to expand on.

"_Strong_, earthling, but not stronger. If something is too strong, it cannot be broken." He took a breath, looking back through the window for unintended guards.

He hadn't complained about its absence, but the question had been bouncing inside of him for days. "Why did they stop using mind control?"

Tarcol was ready for this question. "The Reach's mental programming system is still in progress. At this point, the effect is brief, lasting about three to six seconds. I think they were initially using it to intimidate you. But mind control is only temporary. They wanted to inflict permanent damage."

The white eyes on Tim's black mask grew. He had been aching to take the mask off for days, but he hadn't gotten a minute away from the watch of the Reach.

"The guard just passed. You better get going," coaxed Tarcol, opening the door and stepping back to let him through.

Slipping through the door, he heard Tarcol say behind him, "I have to head off to the control room."

Tim nodded, but didn't look back. He didn't need to say goodbye. He would be back. With the Justice League.

Tarcol had warned him before that he had less than one minute to reach the elevator. That part wasn't a problem; the hallway must have been only six or seven yards. Once he had reached the tall green doors labeled with a word of the aliens' language, Tim slipped his hand into his boot and pulled out the two clear cards of Caralack's fingerprints wrapped in brown cloth. Unwrapping the fabric from the plastic, Tim placed the five fingerprints on the hand-reader, and watched the elevator doors slide open.

Grateful that it was not occupied, Tim stepped inside and quietly told the processor, "Level E."

He took a deep breath as he secured the two fingerprint copies—one with four fingers, one with the thumb—and the cloth inside his left boot. He couldn't afford to lose them now.

"Level C," the computer voice announced. The elevator continued on its descent.

"Level D."

Tim held his breath.

Suddenly, the elevator stopped in its tracks. The doors swung open and Tim was met face to face with the last person he wanted to interrupt his escape.

Larc.

He raised a thin black eyebrow. "And where do you think you're going, Subject 1-02?"

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**A/N: Who thought breaking out would be a piece of cake? XD **

**Here's this week's trivia question.**

_**Trivia Question #2: What Gotham villain is named **__**Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot**__**?**_

**If you have any suggestions for trivia categories, I would love to know! Review!**


	6. Breaking Out Pt 2

**A/N: A big thanks to all who reviewed, story-alerted, and favorited!**

**The winners of last week's trivia question are**_**: **__**FantasizeDayDreams**__**, **__**Cahayafosc**__**, **__**Ooo-shiny**__**, **__**GSDLover1623**__**, **__**BlazingSilverStar**__**, **__**Chaos Is Order**__**, **__**Lakeshine**__**, **__**UndecidedGirl**__**, **__**kittymitten**_**, and **_**Shredding Skylight**__**.**_** The answer was **_**The Penguin.**_

**And the last chapter is finally concluded… Enjoy!**

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Chapter 6: Breaking Out Pt. 2

_Reach Base 13A Elevator_

_September 30 2017 [0300 hours]_

"Level D."

Tim held his breath.

Suddenly, the elevator stopped in its tracks. The doors swung open and Tim was met face to face with the last person he wanted to interrupt his escape.

Larc.

He raised a thin black eyebrow. "And where do you think you're going, Subject 1-02?" Larc stepped forward, into the elevator and inches away from Tim. His hand held the doors open.

Tim shrugged, keeping his cover. "I was told Caralack wanted me in Training Sector D08 for a special exercise. I'm surprised you weren't notified."

"A little late for a training session." Larc leaned closer to Tim, threateningly. "Where are your guards?"

Tarcol had advised Tim to take out anyone that caught him inside the elevator. But this was Larc, Tim's training instructor. It would have been simple if a guard or apprentice had been in his place. Larc would be much more difficult to take down. He needed a strategically flawless attack. "I guess Caralack trusts me."

Larc tilted his head. "Well, I don't."

Tim's heart started beating faster. If he had only attacked Larc immediately, so he was taken off guard...

"If you're so sure that you were wanted for a late night exercise, then you won't mind me escorting you?"

Larc was going to walk him into an empty room.

"Of course not," Tim replied.

'_Stay cool,'_ he reminded himself, wondering where the months of, as Dick called it, "traught lessons" had disappeared to. _'It's now or never.'_

Larc stepped aside, gesturing his hand forward for Tim to pass. The dark-haired boy stepped out of the elevator, waiting for Larc to follow.

'_Three.'_

Larc's outstretched hand fell to his sides. Tim's hand brushed against the border of the door beside him.

'_Two'_

The alien advanced towards where Tim had begun walking. Robin's fingernails dug into the weak plaster of the metal frame.

'_One.'_

Tim spun, hand clutched to his weapon, as the steel bar collided with Larc's green head. The alien stumbled to the side, clawing at air to find support. Finding nothing, he collapsed to the ground. Blood smeared against the blue wall that his head slumped against.

Tim didn't want to stay and look at his victim, so he stepped over the body and walked to the elevator. Pressing the prints against the hand reader once again, he slipped inside and re-commanded the computer system to continue its descent.

He gripped the cold weapon in his right hand, but didn't look at it. He didn't want to see the color of the blood.

Forcing his eyes to the elevator wall, he wondered how killing had seemed to become so natural. He hadn't meant to hit Larc that hard… or had he? He shook his head. Maybe he was more mentally unstable than he had thought.

"Level E."

The elevator doors swung open. He would have to hurry now. There was not a doubt that the cameras caught him with Larc. The guards would be there any second.

Stepping out of the bright elevator and into the dim basement level of the Reach ship, he attempted to navigate his way to the emergency exit. Darkness wrapped around him like a blanket.

'_Ouch,'_ he muttered when his foot collided with a crate he hadn't seen in front of him. When the light streaming in through the elevator faded, he began to wave his arms in front of him to avoid further collisions.

After a few minutes of blindly navigating the small floor, he spotted a bright red light twenty yards to right. As he neared it, the illumination grew and he dropped his hands to his side, no longer needing their protection.

The words above the circular door read one of the few words Tim had learned of the aliens' foreign language in his adventure on the ship: "Exit."

Chills ran up his spine. _He's almost free._

Slipping his hand into his boot, he scrounged for the two plastic sheets. After a minute with no results, he pulled his boot off, cupping his hand underneath to catch one thin square. The other, however, was nowhere to be found. _Where was the thumb card?_

His heart dropped. Frozen in his position, his blood turned into ice.

"Looking for this?"

The voice startled Tim, but wasn't enough to break his frozen veins. His head turned to the side.

_Tarcol._

A wave of relief washed over him. His blood now flowing, he turned the extra 90 degrees to face his alien ally.

Tarcol's hand waved in the air, taunting. In it, was the single transparent disc Tim had misplaced from his keeping place.

"Oh," said Tim, confused by his stance, "thanks Tarcol. It must have fallen out of my shoe…" His arm stretched forward to receive the lost treasure, but Tarcol's hand was unmoved.

When he laughed, his eyes were nestled in a faraway place. "Isn't this great? Caralack will be so thrilled I caught the Ambassador's favorite subject, I'll unquestionably advance _at least_ three levels. Perhaps even be directly promoted to a full-fledged Guide. I'll be absorbing this victory for_ years_."

Tim's heart stopped beating. "What are you talking about, Tarcol? Why aren't you in the control room?"

But Tarcol wasn't looking at him. Pulling a gun out from behind his back, he grinned. "I wanted to bid farewell." He admired the gun for a moment, stretching his arm forward to flaunt his advantage over Tim.

"Wondering how I got this weapon of Earth?" Tarcol asked. Tim was several yards away, but he swore he saw exhilaration glimmer in the alien's eyes. "Guides aren't permitted weapons until stage eight. I snatched this off the confiscated items lab on Level B. I just hope I have good aim." Finished admiring, Tarcol gripped the weapon with both hands and aimed it towards Tim. "Now move." He tilted the gun to the left, gesturing for Tim to begin walking.

"Tarcol, you can't do this," Tim pleaded with him, his voice still shaking from the unexpected betrayal. "If you take me back to them, I'll tell them the truth. You helped me escape. You set me up. There's nothing heroic or victorious about spoiling your own plan. You can't vouch for everything I have against you, Tarcol."

Tarcol's grin faded into a scowl. "It seems you're right, Subject. It appears to be most wise to shoot you now."

"Wai—"

_Bam._

Tim's body stiffened with the hit. His scream was imprinted onto the walls of the storage room. Clutching his left side with both hands, he crumpled to the floor.

"This way," Tarcol's explained, stepping into Tim's view on the ground, "I'll have my story carved in stone before you even _wake_ to the nightmare you're about to endure."

Pain was tearing him apart. Warm blood washed over his cupped hands. Pressing his fists over the wounds to hold the pressure, he swallowed the bile in the back of his throat and stared at Tarcol. "I tho-thought y-ou…" he breathed through his teeth and squinted his eyes. _Inhale. Exhale. _ "were my… frie-end."

Tarcol smiled. "And here I thought the legendary Boy Wonder was on my tail for the entire operation. That is why, of course, I had to steal the blueprints and move up the date. But it turns out that you're just as worthless as the others."

Black dots crowded Tim's vision. He was losing too much blood. _Inhale. Exhale. _Forcing himself to calm and lower his heart rate to slow the blood loss, he asked Tarcol, "So the… secret anti-Reach organization was just a p-ploy to gain my trus-st? You n-ever...meant any of-f it."

_Inhale. Exhale._

"Brilliant conclusion," said Tarcol, sarcastically. He slipped the gun into his back pocket. Bending down, he pocketed the fingerprint disc which Tim had dropped after the shooting. He gazed back at Tim, smiling. "Sweet Dreams."

The white lights that followed Tarcol's swift kick to the head released him of the pain. He slipped into the darkness, welcoming its warm and peaceful embrace.

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_Unknown Location_

_September 30 2017 [Estimated Time: 02300 hours]_

Scarlet illumination greeted his return to consciousness with open arms. It surrounded him from all angles, swallowing him into its grasp. His back rested against a tall upright metal slab. When his spine shook from a fierce chill, his half conscious state groaned at the sharp bullet wound in his side. His eyes blinked away the tears. Tim tried to inspect the wound, but his body was unresponsive to his brain's commands.

'_Move,' _he yearned himself, but he remained frozen in a world of crimson lights and a steady heartbeat.

"We have been informed of your escape attempt, Subject 1-02," a smooth voice greeted Tim. "It was most unimpressive to hear of your pathetic defeat. It was a mistake to disobey orders. You will soon regret that mistake."

Tim tried to snicker at the alien, but it was caught in his throat and his facial features were immobile.

"But first, let's a play a game. Hopefully, it will teach you a lesson—one you will not forget."

He paused, absorbing the tension with an open grin.

"It's called _'Try to Stay Alive.'_"

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**A/N: This story's about to get **_**dark.**_** So in other words... very very good. ;) I'll try to update by next Saturday.  
**

**At **_**irisgoddess**_**'s suggestion, this week's trivia category is on Stephanie Brown.**

_**Trivia Question #3: ******__What three_ aliases have Stephanie Brown undertook? 

**I appreciate all reviews!**


	7. Breaking Through

**A/N: Okay, so just a few things before you read the chapter:**

**It's a bit short. But don't worry; the next update is twice as long.**

**The answer to last week's trivia question was **_**Robin, Batgirl, and Spoiler**_**. The record high **_**13**_** WINNERS are **_**FantasizeDayDreams, **__**kittymitten**__**, **__**Ooo-shiny**__**, **__**Cahayafosc**__**, **__**Chaos Is Order**__**, **__**theGirlNightwing**__**, **__**Stronger123**__**, **__**Lakeshine**__**, Guest, **__**GSDLover1623**__**, **__**angel grayson**__**, **__**UndecidedGirl**__**, **_**and **_**irisgoddess**__**!**_

**There is a small(ish) time skip, but it doesn't significantly affect how the story was playing out already. **

**Warning: The feels may kill you. ;)**

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Chapter 7: Breaking Through

_Reach Base 13A Confinement Sector_

_Estimated Date: October 8 2017 [Estimated Time: 0200 hours]_

When he opened his eyes, he couldn't distinguish between the surrounding red barrier that forced his body into a living standstill, and his own crimson blood. Honestly, it all seemed to melt into one. Sometimes, though, two orange eyes would formulate beyond the unyielding barricades. He wished this happened more. It was too often that the eternal torture was bestowed from a faceless source.

He liked his eyes shut. When he closed them, he could pretend he was dead. There was no pain. No pleasure. No love. No hate. Only darkness remained. Like a bat, he was comforted by the nothingness.

There was no day or night in this place. Time was only categorized by his state of consciousness. His sleep was allotted when his body could no longer bear the pain and would send his mind into a faraway place, in fear of it watching its own decay.

When his mind had no other place to go, he looked back on the hours after Tarcol's betrayal.

"_You have disobeyed, Subject 1-02. Disobedience demands consequences."_

_His cold hands were suddenly warmed. A wave of heat spread through his body like blood in water. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face. _

"_Turn stabilizer 1 down, Caralack," said another voice, "I want to hear his screams."_

_Pain streaked the flesh of his arms. He wouldn't open his eyes, but he could feel his body encased in fire. When the tension stilling his facial features subsided, he bit his lip to prevent screaming. He tasted blood in his mouth._

"_You will soon learn who your master is, Subject 1-02."_

_A moan escaped Tim. Flames burned through his skin. When the heat stung his exposed wound, the pain cracked through him, and he struggled not to vomit. He was panicking, trying to shake his stationary legs. But he was frozen in the pit of the fire. _

"_Is it difficult to suppress the scream inside of you, yearning to be released, Subject 1-02?" Caralack mocked._

_Sweat mixed with tears. Squeezing his eyes shut, he opened his mouth, but not to express his state of anguish._

"_You c-can't… bre-eak m-me," he spat at the aliens. _

_He focused on the laughter to avoid thinking about the pain._

"_Challenge accepted," Caralack replied, "How are we doing so far?"_

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_Reach Base 13A Confinement Sector_

_Estimated Date: October 22 2017 [Unknown Time]_

Apparently, the Reach had developed a weapon capable of shattering a human bone within a three foot distance purely using sonic waves. If the produced vibrations reached the natural frequency of the bone, resonance would cause it to fall apart.

"Let's test it out, shall we?" Caralack asked Tim, who didn't respond. "Now, who do you serve?"

The questions were a gift of mercy. If he answered correctly, he could stall the pain. They weren't letting him die, anyway. He might as well live without it. Perhaps the Reach would allow him to return to his original schedule of the H.A.R.D. program if he demonstrated progress.

"The Reach," Tim answered. One correct answer. One breath free of pain.

"And who are your enemies?"

Tim didn't think twice. "The Justice League."

Caralack paused, shifting the weapon between hands. "And what is your life goal?"

"To kill anyone who defies the Reach."

"What is your name?"

This was a new question.

'_My name?'_ Tim asked himself. He hadn't heard it in over a month. _'My real-'_

An ear piercing shriek escaped the strange weapon. Tim's right arm tensed with growing pressure. The hold grew tighter, like his arm was literally being compressed by a steam roller. Tim clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth in the process. Several seconds later, the bones constructing his arm collapsed into pieces.

His scream had become so familiar, he didn't even notice he was shouting. He stopped focusing on steady breaths and slow heart beats weeks ago. He hoped, in the back of his mind, that death would come very soon.

Tim didn't know how he was still alive. It was possible, perhaps, that the Reach had him inside a continual life support field. That would explain why his bullet wound had independently healed within the first three days of his containment.

"Subject 1-02, are you that pathetic that you cannot remember your own name?" Caralack mocked, "Let's start from the beginning.. Who do you serve?"

When would it stop? Had they given up on using him as a weapon? Was he designated as too weak to be of use? Was the only thing left to do, to keep him as an experimentation body? Or perhaps, this was all part of their brutal plan.

"The Reach."

He couldn't count the different types of pain he had experienced over the last month on two hands. Instead of breaking skin and spilling blood, the sonic weapon had shredded the interior of his arm. Even if he wasn't forced to remain frozen, he wouldn't have dared to move it.

Caralack continued the questioning, "Who are your…"

And the world stopped.

It was quite possible that Tim had fallen into unconsciousness. He couldn't remember the last time when the voices ceased. When he opened his eyes, however, the red still remained.

'_I'm still alive,' _thought Tim. He felt his stomach plummet with disappointment.

_Crash. _

Muffled voices filled the air.

_Bang._

Small vibrations spread sharp pangs of pain through his shattered arm like wildfire. Was there an accident in the lab? Had there really been an undercover agent in the Reach's ship that finally emerged to save Tim?

_Clatter._

He moaned, hoping someone would hear. When the noises ceased, his heart lifted back into his chest. Footsteps grew louder.

_Swoosh._

White light swarmed his vision and penetrated his aching head. He was in free fall for a moment, encased solely by the pure radiance of the artificial lights. His eyes had become accustomed to the shades of warm crimson and concrete black in the days of his containment. He squeezed his eyes shut, not able to bear the luminosity.

His fall was cut short when a pair of arms wrapped around shoulders, swallowing him into a tight embrace. Tim listened to the breaths and distinguished the person as a man. A moment later, two hands squeezed both sides of his head; this time, belonging to a female. He didn't have the energy to scream when his broken arm fell against a hard surface. Instead, he lay limp in their clutch.

Tim couldn't make out what the male whispered into his ear. He was tinkering on the edge of unconsciousness, and one strain of his brain would send him plummeting to the depths of the darkness.

He wasn't aware of how long he remained in the same position, sinking into their comfortable foundation. It had seemed too short of time, though, before the male shifted positions, scooping the boy into his arms. He lost connection with the female, but he could faintly hear her soft sobs next to him.

Tim hadn't moved in weeks. It was as if his mind had disconnected from the body that it had once worked so efficiently in coordination with.

But that was when he had on _the cape_.

That was a long time ago.

He wasn't necessarily concerned with whom the kidnappers were, nor where they were taking him. He had become completely incapable of comprehending the natural reality weeks ago.

Maybe that's why he was convinced a meteor had crashed through the roof of the ship when a thunderous clamor filled every square inch of air with harsh vibrations. Tim cringed. '_Too loud,' _he sluggishly thought to himself, not able to escape the sound.

Directly following the deafening nuisance, a rush of air encased his form in a thin chill. The male talked for a moment again, then clutched Tim close to his body, squeezing his shattered arm into an abnormal position.

He was flying again; for one moment he was on the top of the world, feeling the sun penetrate his face and blaze through his closed eyelids.

'_The ship,' _thought Tim,_ 'was stationed in the sky?'_

But his wings had lost their feathers and broken their bones. Alarm spread from his hollow heart to his fingertips.

He wasn't flying. He was _falling._

Wind whipped through his dark hair. As the strong force threatened to pry his eyelids open, his face contorted to conform to the danger at hand. The white light turning his calming black into a deep red sent his heart rate skyrocketing. It was all a dream. When he opened his eyes, the scarlet cage would be present.

It had seemed too long, but the fall abruptly ceased. The male landed smoothly on a surface, avoiding further damage to the younger teenager.

'_No,_' thought Tim, already feeling the grasp of unconsciousness pulling at the peaks of his mind, _'this is real.' _

Another sharp noise shook Tim from his thoughts, and he was lowered into, what as he guessed, was a jet or a plane.

Maybe _now_ was the proper time to panic.

After a moment of movement, he was laid on a straight table, his damaged arm dangling off the side. He tried to scream, but the effort was too great to bear. Instead, a moan seeped through his lips.

The burden of light was lifted when the top compartment of the vehicle slid closed. Though his eyes rested with the settling darkness, his breaths had become erratic. _Where was he going? And who was taking him there?_

"Hold…just another…wait..." he picked up pieces of the man's frantic rant. His brain searched for recognition, but the voice was too faint.

Something sharp pierced his arm. When it was released, he could hear his own heartbeat—slow and steady—and his breathing stabilize. A hand pressed on his chest, and another wrapped around his left wrist. His broken arm was carefully placed on his stomach.

"Can you…im, are y… open… _eyes_,' the male ordered, but Tim's brain had disconnected from his body too long ago.

A cold hand gripped the back of his neck and lifted his head. He counted the soft drips of water echoing through the air in an attempt to stay conscious, but the endeavor only seemed to dip him further into the black abyss. He went limp, falling again.

"Stay awake, T… You can't fall a… can't lose you…"

Dead silence sent the room into a frenzy. Where had his heart beat disappeared to?

The female began crying again, gripping his good arm tightly enough to stop the blood flow, and although the male released his hold on Tim, his voice was still achingly present.

If they _were _on a plane, then who was manning the controls?

"Just ten more… almost there…_please don't_…"

If a meteor had landed through the roof of the Reach base, then one had surely landed on his chest, knocking the air from his lungs. The weight was lifted almost immediately, only to return again.

"Two… Three… c'mon, T…"

Each compression felt like a gun shot. Tim indeed had firsthand experience with bullets. A sharp crack signaled a snapped rib. But why couldn't he feel it break?

"…One…Two…_please_…"

If they had expected that damaging the fragile Boy Wonder would somehow send a spark of life through his heart again, they were wrong. His consciousness stood on precarious grounds.

"Come back… no… _NO_!"

And his natural reaction to pain was a collapse.

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**A/N: In addition to this week's trivia question, I also have a survey. I'm trying to decide Tim's ship in this story, so what better way for an indecisive person like myself to make decisions than to take a vote? **

_**Trivia Question #4: What character had his first broadcast depiction featured on Batman: The Animated Series where he is portrayed training Bruce Wayne as an escape artist in a flashback?**_

**Which of the choices below do you prefer for Tim's ship in this fanfiction (for mentionings and references in later chapters; possibly an appearance)?**

**A) Tim/Cassie**

**B) Tim/Stephanie**

**C) Other (specify who)**

**D) No shipping**

**PM or Review for your vote to be counted! Comments and suggestions are greatly appreciated!**


	8. Breaking News

**A/N: Sorry for the late update… :(**

**Last week's trivia question was a little tricky. The answer was **_**Zatara**_**, but since **_**Zatanna **_**was also featured in the episode, it could technically be either. ****Winners are **_**FantasizeDayDreams, **__**Chaos Is Order**__**, **__**Shredding Skylight**__**, **__**kittymitten**__**, **__**Lakeshine**__**, **_**and **_**Ooo-shiny**_**! Nice job!**

**Much to my delight, the votes for last week's survey are in and the winner has been chosen! The official ship of this fanfiction will be Tim/Steph! Don't get too excited, though… I'm not guaranteeing an appearance yet. Well, maybe.**

**Ready to find out who took Tim? (Even though you've probably already guessed)**

**Warning: A lot of emotions. Some fluff. ;)**

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Chapter 8: Breaking News

_Unknown Location_

_October 23 2017 [Unknown Time]_

The lingering darkness had become second nature to the third Boy Wonder. Swallowed inside the night, he drifted along the open space.

The brief separation from reality was revitalizing. His mind was finally at peace.

_Beep._

The silence was shattered.

_Beep. Beep._

Tim could feel himself being lifted from the depths of unconsciousness. He urgently tried to grasp unto its presence, but it slipped from his fingers. A subtle light seeped through his eyelids. He could feel a soft pillow under his head and sheets beneath him. Once he felt he could no longer hold onto the black, he opened his eyes.

'_No…'_

At first, he could not process the sight. Though the dim light was not blinding, it was too absurd—too preposterous—to even consider what he was laying his eyes on was anything but a dream. _A nightmare_. It was only logical that he was entrapped in a simulation fabricated by the Reach. None of this was real.

_Nightwing_ and _Batgirl _weren't there, staring at Tim with open eyes and faint smiles.

"Look who finally decided to wake up."

And if these were only illusions, he had to show the Reach that they did not affect him.

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

Tim lurched forward in the medical bed, wrapping his left hand around the female's neck. His right arm, however, seemed to be restricted in a ring of fabric looped around his own neck. He cringed at the pain prickling through the broken bone.

The girl screamed when Tim found the pressure point nestled in the crook of her neck. Eying the bewildered Nightwing-look-alike to the right of the redhead, he released his grip to throw a left-handed punch at his direction. Still absorbed in shock, the male dodged too late, and stumbled backwards with the hit.

Tim felt two hands grip his left arm and force it back towards the bed. Memories of Dick and Barbara already floating back into his mind, he struggled against the female's hold. One of the male's strong hands pinned his shoulder to the mattress, while the other rested on Tim's chest.

"Tim_, calm down_," he pleaded with the boy, "It's me, Dick."

Robin shook his head. It wasn't Dick. It was a _simulation_.

Tim screamed, thrashing against their hold. Every move he made, however, seemed to weaken him. His muscles were sore and his body was damaged. The restored energy he woke to was quickly draining.

The subtle beeping he surmised was monitoring his heart rate became shrill and rapid.

_Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

"Please, Tim! You're only hurting yourself_._"

His eyes flashed towards the girl. Her blue eyes sent bullets into Robin's heart.

"No," he told her, "You're dead… You're DEAD!" He was sure he had spoken, but the voice was far too raspy and broken to be his.

_Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

Their looks of pity went unappreciated. He needed to get out of there. _Fast_.

Tim wished his arm would go numb and his head would stop spinning. The Reach would be disappointed by his performance.

"Barbara, get the sedative. _Now_," the male ordered, pressing harder against Tim.

Robin suddenly noticed his sharp breathing pattern. Every time he inhaled, his rib cage would flare in pain.

"Slowly Tim, breathe slowly!"

By the time the female had returned, Tim was in a state of seizure. His eyes were wide open and his body was unresponsive to his brain. The shrill beeps made his head spin. He tried to focus on one object, but the sight he was met with only amplified his anxiety.

"Please don't, no… NO!" Tim screamed, fighting the two heroes' hold. Again, the same hoarse, unfamiliar voice was apparent.

_Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

"It will make you feel better, Tim, I promise," the male's attempt at comforting only spurred Tim on further. The man's voice was thick with emotion. His face did little to conceal his inner pain. The real Nightwing would have learned to hide his feelings, as like Tim did, under the Reach. This was only a game.

When he felt the sharp needle insert into his arm, the world finally ceased its spin. Peace swept through his body in relaxation. As if turning off a television screen, the colors died and returned as shadows.

_Beep … Beep …. Beep ... Beep_

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_Unknown Location_

_October 23 2017 [Unknown Time]_

A cool breeze brushed over the thin layer of fabric draped over Tim. A chill ran through his spine as his fingers stretched and prodded around to pull the sheet up to his neck. Confused by his lack of findings, he opened his eyes once again.

Hours had passed since he first awoke. The bats had migrated from the far right of the cave to the back corner, on their usual hunting hour. Their screeches echoed through the cave in mad vibrations.

Denial can be experienced in many ways, but as his senses observed his environment, his mind faced a blank wall. He didn't want to read the words scrawled across its surface he freshly painted white. They would only corroborate what he already knew—what he told himself to cease the lingering hope.

'_They're all gone.'_

Someone in the room cleared their throat. Tim's ears perked to the new sounds, suddenly invigorated. The monitor beeping had subsided, but the lasting hush of the Bat Cave ever so remained enveloping the air.

'_The Bat Cave,'_ thought Tim, startled by his discovery. _'Every Reach induced simulation requires preset imagery to supply the setting.' _He focused on the dark ceiling of the cave. _'But the Reach is unaware of the whereabouts or appearance of the Bat Cave. Unless they had access to my memories… this is isn't the Reach.'_

Tim turned his head to inspect the cave further, but was startled when he was met with two blue eyes and a lopsided smile.

The man took a breath. Tim hadn't noticed it in the panic earlier, but the appearance of the male was initially startling. His eyes were sunken into his face, highlighted by dark circles. His hair went every direction, as if he hadn't combed it in a week. His arms hung between his legs and his elbows rested on his knees in the black chair he sat in. Tim was wondering if his own appearance was similar when the man began to speak.

"Tim," his smile grew into a disbelieving grin, like if he, too, had questioned if the supposed reality was actually a simulation. "It's been a long time. We thought we had… had lost you," he shook his head in thought, "—had lost another one."

The male stood from his chair, cautiously eyeing Tim's heart monitor as he neared. Tim didn't want him to walk closer, in fear of experiencing a lapse of emotional instability, but he didn't stop him.

"How do you feel?" When the man asked, his left eyebrow lifted inquisitively.

It was an odd question. Unable to comprehend, Tim drew back into his pillow. When he tried to move his good arm, however, it remained stationed to the bed post. Confused, his eyes met the spot of interest.

'_Restraints,' _Tim confirmed with a faint moan. Had he performed so inept that he was reverted back to the beginning of the H.A.R.D. program? He shook his head. He couldn't do it all over again. Not after all the progress he had made.

His wrist bound in metal shackles, he shifted his legs in the medical bed. They too, he discovered, were restrained.

He looked at the male, wildly. He could have sworn the heart monitor accelerated.

The man read Tim's face like a book. "You have to understand, Tim. It's for your own protection."

'_Restraints. Restraints. Restraints.'_

"My protection?" Tim whispered lowly, to prevent the retched voice from returning, "or to ensure my captivity?"

Robin tried to break loose, but the bonds were too strong. The endeavor only heightened his heart rate and sent his rib cage on fire. The wires connected to his chest pulled at his skin with the scramble. He was glad his broken arm had gone numb in its sling.

"Tim, you're safe now. You're home. Barbara left to check up on Gordon, but we're here for you."

He was in pain, restrained, and confused. Frustrated by his weak state, he squeezed his eyes shut to escape the dream.

"You're not real," he told the man.

But it wasn't a dream. It was the Bat Cave. He was home, so why couldn't he accept it? Had he slept on the thought of the team's death for too long?

"Yes, Tim, I am. Me and Barbara and Alfred—we're all _real _and _here. _ You have to open your eyes, buddy. Look into my eyes and feel my heart beat."

Tim breathed, his eyes firmly shut. _"_My name's not Tim. It's Subject 1-02."

There was a silence. Tim hated the silence. He had felt its presence for too long. What he needed was answers.

"No, it's not," replied the male, "your name is Timothy Jackson Drake."

'_My name is Timothy,' _he told himself, but it didn't feel right. Tim is a name for a good boy that wears ties on Sundays and spends his time on homework and working on his next speech for a debate team. He, himself, was a killer.

"Now _open your eyes_, Tim. And say my name," the male's voice was stern, like an order. And Tim knew what would happen if he didn't follow orders.

He knew what he would be seeing before he was staring at it. Blue eyes. Dick's blue eyes.

He couldn't lie to himself any longer. This was home.

"Dick," the boy smiled. His eyes blinked away collecting tears. "It's you."

Dick smiled too. A wisp of hair fell over his eyes. "It's me." He drew back and sat at the foot of Tim's bed. "Now how do you feel?"

Honestly, he felt a lot of things, but he wasn't about to be _weak._ The Reach had instilled in him more than to indulge in self pity.

"Like I've been lied to."

"We think you have." Dick leaned forward to grab a clipboard off of a near side table. Flipping through the first few pages, he read off a list. "But you also have a partly shattered arm, a minor concussion, four fractures, recent bruising, damaged tissue, and a broken rib." He looked up at the boy, "The last one's my fault," his smile faltered, "but your heart had… stopped beating, Tim. You're lucky to be alive."

"I think they had me on a life support shield. To keep me alive while they…" Tim stopped, not wanting to concern Dick. When Killer Croc had once crushed his arm under a boulder, Barbara had to stop Dick herself from Nightwing taking the mutated crocodile's life. After that experience, Tim knew what he could and couldn't say around him.

"While… what?" Dick's eyes burned into Robin's.

He ignored the question. "How did you find me, Dick?"

The older hero seemed to let the previous inquiry go after hearing the one on the table. "It's a long story, Tim. One that I hope I will never have to tell you."

"But I need to know, Dick. _How did you find me?_"

There was a moment of silence between Nightwing and Robin. Tim never thought it would end.

"Master Richard, I see Master Timothy has awoken." Alfred's voice rang through the cave, backed by a thousand bats. He walked down the long stairway. "Master Barbara has returned."

Dick let out a sigh of relief as Batgirl hopped down the steps. His eyes flashed back towards Tim, who stood determined on his question.

"There are a lot of things in my life that I wish I had not been told of. Things I would have been better off… happier… without knowing."

Robin felt Barbara's stare nearing. Her presence was enough to shift the mood of the cave a full 180 degrees. Maybe that's why Dick had always said she was a great addition to the team.

The rattling of Tim's restraints broke the awkward silence. The current Robin turned his head to look at the redhead, as if she was prepared to pop the key from her back pocket and unlock the chains.

"Sorry, Tim. Maybe we should wait until we tell you the full story."

"Or," interrupted Nightwing, "we should wait until he's eaten."

Tim narrowed his eyes in a combination of thought and disgust. He hadn't eaten in… what? Over a month? He had been kept alive only by injections of nutrients.

He cringed as he wiggled his broken arm back and forth to remove the sheet over his body. He was afraid of what he would be met with, but blatant curiosity was burning inside him. Had he become a pile of skin and bones?

He was close to lifting the sheet when a pair of hands pulled the corner of the blanket away from the sling. Its new position revealed little, however, as it merely created a bare circle around his arm, in which a fresh blue t-shirt was exposed.

Robin looked up to Dick's face close to his once again. "All in good time, Tim."

His ears perked to a soft clatter as a plate was placed on the tray over Tim's lap. Alfred lifted the cover, revealing six thin apple slices. Tim could not have honestly been less grateful, but he reverted back to his familiar, "thanks, Alfred," as the butler disappeared into the manor.

Barbara was at the left side of Tim's bed, unwrapping the chain from the post, allotting Tim room to move his hand a radius of two feet from the initial position. He used his new freedom to push the plate of food away. His stomach was already turning at the sight of it.

The plate, however, was immedietly returned.

"We performed some x-rays while you were sleeping, and discovered that your stomach had shrunken to half its size. You need to _eat_, Tim."

"I'm not hungry." When he coughed, blood splattered over the white sheets.

"You don't feel hungry, but you're actually starving to death," Barbara stressed.

"Let's make a deal," said Dick, catching Robin's attention, "Every apple slice you eat, we'll answer one question."

Robin, considering this a fair deal, slowly picked up one slice of fruit and brought it to his mouth. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see both heroes staring at him. He wished they would stop, but he was afraid that if they left, they would never come back.

'_Just one slice,'_ the young hero told himself. Hoping the ordeal would last but a moment, he stuffed the entire piece into his mouth and began frantically chewing.

It stuck to the inside of his mouth like paste. Its mere presence was enough to make him choke. He wasn't sure what to do when chunks of the apple fell down his throat and stopped his air flow.

"No, Tim! One bite at a time, _one_!"

A small trashcan was held under his chin when he opened his eyes. He pulled at the restraints as he choked on the apple. Once he felt the majority of apple leave his mouth, the trashcan was taken away and he graciously accepted the glass of water he was handed.

The cold water hit his dry tongue and sore throat like a cascade. Its sudden rush of moisture had become too unfamiliar. It was far more enticing, however, than the sick and hollow feeling deep inside his gut. He drank the clear liquid down in gulps, beads of water running down his neck.

He must have been doing something wrong, because while one hand was immediately laid over his mouth, another pulled the glass from Robin's fingers. He felt cold water stain his shirt. Swallowing the water remaining in his mouth, he looked up at Dick, who stood over the medical bed like a hawk, with a thin line for a mouth and slits for eyes. His voice erupted in a similar manor to lava escaping a volcano.

"They didn't feed you, did they, Tim?" He shut his eyes and breathed. "When was the last time you ate?"

Tim didn't answer. His hollow eyes said enough.

"I'll grab another shirt from the manor," offered Barbara, eyeing his soaked top. By the time she had returned, Dick had already begun removing Tim's sling. Slipping the strap over his head, he peeled back the Velcro tabs and removed the core. Barbara unlinked the metal cuff on his wrist.

"I can do it myself," insisted Tim, ripping the wires from his chest and yanking the blue shirt off. He clenched his jaw at the sharp pains through his broken arm.

The two heroes ignored the comment. Dick carefully removed the sleeve of the wet shirt from Tim's broken arm, and discarded the wad of fabric. Tim tried to catch a glance at his bare chest, but the red shirt was pulled over his head before he got the chance. Once his arm was guided through the sleeve and the sling and wires were back in place, Tim looked back at his wrist, which had been chained to the bed, once again. He looked at Barbara, appalled.

"I won't hurt you," he promised with large eyes.

Barbara looked away, and the discussion was dropped.

Dick picked up another slice and handed it to Tim. "Small bites, this time. Okay?"

The boy's frown was faint, but noticeable. Heat rushed into his cheeks as he accepted the apple. How pathetic was it that he could not even properly eat or drink? He stared at the apple slice with distant interest.

"Tim suspects they kept him on a life sustaining support shield," Dick explained to Barbara while Robin began nibbling at the fruit.

Barbara nodded. "That would explain his arm's x-ray. It's like the bone was shattered, then underwent speed healing to mend itself back together into two parts."

Dick turned back to Tim, who had finished the first apple slice. His question was already rolling off of his tongue.

"How did you find me?"

Nightwing averted his eyes to the floor and ran a hand through his hair. "We followed the bodies." It wasn't a shock to look back and see Tim's stunned expression. "The Reach ship you were on was on a constant route through the East Coast. After we had determined that you were in fact captured by the alien organization, all we had to do was look for the dump sites." Dick saw it in the boy's eyes. There was a lot more to know about the dead bodies in dumpsters than both Nightwing and Batgirl knew. "Tim, we weren't going to assume that… that it was _you_. We knew they were performing experiments on teenagers, and… and some of their subjects aren't compatible with certain metag-"

"No," interrupted Robin, whose focus was now on the white sheets over his legs. "You were right to assume what you did. But I can assure you, I didn't kill anyone" he lied.

Tim suddenly wished he hadn't drunken so much water. He could feel it in his stomach, and this conversation was only making his appetite more unstable.

He wanted to change the subject. He needed to. His emotions had been stolen from him, but the subtle tug at his heart when he felt _nothing_ for the ones he had murdered killed him inside.

"Was anything real?" he asked. If the people he swore were simulations had transpired to be human, then what else had blinded him from the truth?

Dick's eyes flashed toward the plate, then back at Tim. The boy sighed.

A millennium and one apple slice later, Tim's stomach was turning at the thought of any edible substance.

"Well," Dick looked at Tim seriously, "that depends what they told you."

Tim decided to start from the beginning. "The Reach have taken over, like what Blue was saying. It's over. Every member of the Team is-_was_ either dead or in captivity. Apparently, their energy drink had greater effects than they could even imagine. Except some people, they said, were immune, and needed to be handled. That's where I came in, I guess." Tim didn't want to talk about the H.A.R.D. program, so he let his voice trail of in search of an answer.

Dick looked hard into Tim's eyes, "Tim, what date is it?"

"Late October sometime."

"Er, Tim," there was a short pause, "You're tired. You need to rest."

He pulled away, but Tim grabbed the older hero's arm with his good hand. "I don't need to rest, Dick. I need _answers_."

Dick shot a sympathetic look at the young teenager. "Barbara, we need to let Tim sleep."

"No!" shouted Tim, watching Dick and Barbara stand and walk away. "You can't leave!" Tim swore he heard a soft sob from the female, but the two heroes were silent as they walked up the steps. He thrashed against the restraints, "let me go! I need answers! _Answers!_"

The heart monitor was beeping again. His breathing erratic and his ribcage throbbing, he gave into his sore throat as the door was shut. He sat a moment, in disbelief. When he looked down, he noticed the sheet had moved from its original position in the tangle, exposing what lay beneath.

Thin, transparent tubes ran down both sides of his legs and across his knees. Inside them, a vibrant blue liquid flowed. They linked together with silver bolts impaling deep into his skin. When he managed to pull up his shirt, the same tubes were apparent, lining the muscles of his stomach and chest.

His arm stretched for the trashcan, and suddenly he was aware of his imperative need for _rest._

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**A/N:**** I don't want you to think that because Tim has returned, that the story is ending. The Reach is still out there… and I don't think they're too happy that their favorite subject was taken from them… **

**It might be a couple of weeks before I update again. My in-depth story outline ran out last chapter, and I'm running on improve at this point. I need some time to sort out how the next few chapters should play out, but the next chap should be up within the next two/three weeks. **

_**Trivia Question #5: Finish the famous Batman quote: "I am [?], I am the night, I'm Batman."**_

**Enjoyed the chapter? Review! Help me reach 100?**


	9. Breaking Habits

**A/N: It's been a while since I last updated, I know, but finals are approaching, and the weekend after I'll be in New York. So let's see… the next chapter should be up around the 15****th****! But after that, I should be updating every Saturday.**

**The correct answer to last week's trivia question (if you remember what it was) was **_**vengeance.**_** Winners are: **_**FantasizeDayDreams**__**, **__**Lakeshine**__**, **__**GSDLover1623**__**, **__**angel grayson**__**, **__**rlb190**__**, **__**Chaos Is Order**__**, **__**UndecidedGirl**__**, **__**kittymitten**__**, **__**Ooo-shiny**__**, Guest, **__**Shredding Skylight**__**, **_**and **_**SalWorks**_**!**

**Enjoy Chapter 9!**

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Chapter 9: Breaking Habits

_Bat Cave Surveillance Center_

_Analyzing Date [Estimated time remaining: 23 minutes]_

"He's been awake for over an hour. We should talk to him." Barbara's voice seeped into Dick's hectic head like gasoline. When he looked at her concerned expression, her blue eyes threw a match and lit it all on fire.

Why had he never noticed the continual nuisance of the everlasting bat screeches? It seemed to escalate in decibels by the second, causing his head to throb. Pressing two fingers against his right temple, he stood from his chair, eyes locked on the live surveillance footage of the Bat Cave's medical area. Tim lay still on his bed, unaware of the looming cameras. He seemed to have overcome the violent phase of shock within the last fifteen minutes. Dick nodded, signaling his decision to break the separation.

Barbara smiled weakly, turning towards him with apprehension, "He'll be okay, Dick."

Nightwing's disheartening stare only emphasized the hopelessness in the air.

"He's a different person now, Babs. The Reach, they… they changed him. And now we're left with the pieces. Every time I look into his eyes, I can only think about that curious kid that turned up on the footsteps of this Mansion with a bright smile and a folder tucked under his arm." He breathed in sharply, holding in his emotion. "Tim deserved better."

Barbara went silent. This debacle had weighed a toll on them both. And for the first time ever, the Bat-Computer wasn't going to spit out the solution to the broken boy on the medical bed.

"Let's go," pushed Dick, heading for the door.

Barbara followed, suddenly aware of what the following hours would hold in stock. "Should you tell him, or shall I?"

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_Bat Cave Medical Station_

_Date awaiting confirmation [Estimated time remaining: 20 minutes]_

The far wall of the Bat Cave had become a point of interest for the Boy Wonder in the last hour and a half. Its jagged rock structure reflected sparks of dim light off of its rough texture. A subtle water droplet provided soft music to his ears.

Fifteen minutes after he had awoke, he had given up on watching for any re-entries. It wasn't until footsteps overpowered his familiar audio and a female sat at the foot of his bed, that did he finally remove his eyes from the barricade.

It was this moment that he would finally receive answers.

"What did you do to me?" he whispered like his soul had been stolen from him. His eyes grazed over the blue tubes attached to his chest and legs.

Dick grabbed a chair, breathing slowly. "We found chemicals in your bloodstream similar to what would be found in IV fluid, Tim." He explained cautiously, "Your body had been incorrectly working to adapt to the conditions of your captivity. To fully heal, we needed to re-stabilize it and shift… its priorities back in the right direction."

"We developed an antidote." Barbara sighed, "I know you don't like what you see, Tim, but it has to be administered continually. We had two choices. And instead of having a bag on a pole following you around for three weeks, we decided to choose the latter."

There seemed to be something missing in Tim's eyes as he looked at the older heroes. Dick wondered how long he had lived with the life robbed from him.

"Three weeks?" Tim gasped, moving the sheet over his legs to shield the sight. He may have denied its presence, but denial was the only thing keeping him on the single thread of sanity. "I know you're trying to help, but I don't need it. I feel fine. So you can just_ let_ _me go no—"_

His blood must have turned into molten lava, because nothing else could explain his slow disintegration. It felt like a truck was parked on top of his bones, crushing them into pieces.

Barbara gripped his hand when he screamed, but he pushed it away. The pain seemed to slowly disappear, like it had never really existed at all.

Tim's thin eyes sent daggers at Dick.

"It's a symptom of the antidote, Tim. It's testing the processes of your immune system to fight off conditions similar to the ones previously experienced." He stood and walked next to Tim's bed. "Now, Tim, you're a smart kid. And you can either dig your own grave by dismantling this system, or you could look into my eyes and try to understand that it only exists to help heal you. I know you can make the right decision."

Tim had been consumed in thought plenty of times prior to this moment, but it was only natural to agree with Nightwing. He wanted everything to return to normal as quickly as possible.

"Now, Tim," started Dick, clenching his teeth awkwardly, "you're not going to like what I'm about to tell you. But I decided it would be best if I gave you a warning beforehand." He leaned back into his chair and looked at Tim seriously. It was an odd day to see two serious expressions on Dick within a matter of hours. His smile was a constant for the Bat family. With it gone, Tim's desire for the norm increased tenfold.

Dick and Barbara exchanged concerned expressions.

"I talked to Doctor Leslie and she's agreed to come here and take a look—"

"No, Dick" Tim interrupted, "no, you didn't," he raised his voice, spurred by panic and anxiety, "I've survived a broken arm before. You don't need to act like I'm dying!"

"Tim, we need to take precautions," Barbara offered, "If Leslie gives you the 'okay', then what—"

"I'm not some little helpless kid anymore! You can't keep treating me like I'm…" he lowered his voice as his eyes searched the white sheet, "like I'm _him_. I'm not going to die on you…"

"This is not a discussion." Dick's stern voice ceased even the bat screeches of the Cave. Bringing up Jason had always provoked Nightwing into a stern mood. Tim rarely ever mentioned him, but it was imperative that he clarified his point. Dick sighed, "My decision is final."

"You sound like Bruce."

It was shocking to hear, but Dick somehow had accepted his role long before Tim's capture. "Well, if he's not here, then someone needs to step up and act like a responsible adult."

Ever since Bruce left, Dick and Barbara had been waiting for the chance to play psychiatrist and determine Tim's emotional and mental status. It may have been a way to avoid the potential conversation, but Tim's focus reverted back to the restraints on his arm. "This is illegal," he shook his wrist, "I want to leave. I need to see my father."

He figured that it would be beneficial for him to stop seeing the walking dead. His mind was determined to return, but his heart hadn't accepted the new "truth," – that everything he thought was real was a lie. His father was the only one he knew would be free, and this would always be constant.

"Your father is on a business trip until early next month. We talked to him two weeks ago, convinced him that if we found you, we would put you in the best care. It was driving him mad to keep your absence a secret. You were taken as Robin, and we hadn't figured a way to stage a fake kidnapping to cover the Reach's tracks. It was the best move to send him away from the suspicious press for a while."

Dick's speech left a silent hole in the Cave. Barbara ached to fill it, but Tim embraced it through thought.

He was tired of things deceiving him. Lying to his face and stabbing him in the back.

He was tired of the beeping heart monitor and the wires and the sling and the bed. He was tired of the way the world spun when he moved his head too quickly or how his arm screamed in pain every time he attempted to remove its sling. If it was his decision, he would have been climbing a mountain or swimming through a great lake. Anything to escape the constant voices inside his head, telling him that the Reach were coming back, that they were at his doorstep, that they staring him in the face. He tried not to listen, but it was hard to ignore the orange eyes he saw staring through every wall and corner of shadows.

He was tired of it all.

But maybe if he told himself that nothing was wrong, he could pretend he wasn't crazy. Like the Team really was still alive and the last six weeks of his life had never happened and the people in front of him were honestly Dick and Barbara. If he could pretend it was real, then he could fool himself into believing that he was okay.

"I need answers _now, Dick._ What date is it? How did I get captured? "

The older heroes looked at each other, debating over whether or not to answer.

Finally, Dick, in his Nightwing costume, pulled up a screen on his wrist controller. "There's a lot we need to discuss, Tim. But right now, I know you want to understand what happened. And if you can look at me and ensure me you can handle it, I'll tell you."

Tim quickly nodded, eyes glued to the holographic screen. His ears perked to the sound of Dick's voice.

"Today is the 23rd of June, 2017."

Robin froze. _'So everything was a lie, even the date.'_

"You were captured by the Reach one month and a half ago, when you were guarding a suspected Reach hideout with Miss Martian. You were awaiting backup at the time, but were attacked by Reach guards." Dick ran the surveillance footage from the security camera outside the bioship while he talked. It repeated the same 6 pictures over: three were still shots of Tim and M'gann behind a large rock, the fourth showed a dozen guards oncoming, the fifth was a blaze of fire, and the last was only of scorched sands. The guards, Miss M, and Tim were missing. "They targeted M'gann. We think that was their intention all along." He closed the screen, "The Reach hid the bioship. Without Miss Martian, we couldn't locate it. After two weeks, we managed to find it in the lowlands of Byhalia, and we recovered this video. But by that time, Miss Martian had already returned. We tried to ascertain your location, but the coordinates from her delirium were less than helpful. She's fully recovered now, but I just can't believe she would have left without you…"

"Don't blame her," Tim said darkly, "She tried, but I blew her cover. They took her away and convinced me that it was a hallucination gas." He paused, "The worst part was that I believed them."

Silence followed. The older heroes had leaned closer to Tim, hoping for him to open up about his kidnapping. They knew from personal experience that pretending it never happened wouldn't heal anything. It just kept the monster inside, eating away at the victim's sole. When they realized Tim had stopped, they decided not to push him.

"I'll cancel the appointment with Leslie for now. We've dropped a lot of information on you. What about we call it a day?" Dick stood, and Barbara followed his lead.

Tim squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. Looking up, he said, "I think you're right."

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_Bat Cave Medical Station_

_June 23, 2017 [1300 hours]_

Freedom. Gold and dazzling, like pixie dust with a set of wings. It was in the air, wrapping around him in a split second. It penetrated through his flesh in natural exhilaration. He felt it pulsing through his veins to the tips of his fingers in a single rush. His eyes glowed with its bright sparkle. His smile exposed the full top row of his teeth and glimmered with its simple presence.

Before this moment, he hadn't appreciated it for what it was. But once it had been stripped away, it was given back, brighter and more exuberant than ever.

But it only lasted an instant. The sparkling gold air wrapped around his wrists and ankles, transforming into thick, black restraints. A large metal ball on a chain was attached to his right foot. He couldn't walk.

Tim grabbed at the lingering sparks of gold dust. They weren't a brilliant shade of yellow for much longer, however, as the air transformed into thick, powdery ashes before the Boy Wonder's eyes.

He was left in the ashes, bound by metal shackles to forever linger in the world of despair.

No one had been given the right to steal his freedom away. No constraints could control him.

He clawed at the cuffs. When his fingernails drove into the weak chains, they broke apart and evaporated like cotton candy. But he didn't question it. He simply embraced a newfound freedom.

He let the world disintegrate into darkness. Someone was shaking him awake.

"Stop, Tim, _please_ _stop!_"

He was initially startled by what he opened his eyes to. It wasn't like he had never seen blood before, but his mind must have miscomprehended the color sequence of the scene, because he was sure there was no such thing as _blue_ blood.

A sharp sapphire. Trickling off his hands and streaked across his legs. A puddle of the strange liquid lined the indents of the mattress. His sheets were stained blue.

"Oh no," he tried to say, but his throat convulsed in lack of air. His lungs had already started to fail.

Dark figures worked frantically over the broken medical structure, reconnecting tubes, inserting bolts, and administering additional doses of the antidote. Tim, however, was experiencing his entire body internally collapsing.

Time was in slow-motion. The heart monitor's beeping was faint and distant. He caught a glimpse of silver scissors cutting through his red shirt. He felt himself being pulled farther and farther away from reality, from the Bat Cave, from Dick and Barbara.

Everything went black.

But he didn't remember closing his eyes.

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_Bat Cave Medical Station_

_June 23, 2017 [1900 hours]_

"It's alright, Tim," calmed Barbara, who guided her nimble fingers over the long blue tubes. Both she and Dick had recovered the antidote administering system just in the nick of time. After Tim had awoken, they managed to re-stabilize his breathing and heart rate. "You didn't know what you were doing," she insisted. She would have said that the problem was solved, but she would be lying. The effects of the dilemma had been fixed. But the problem still remained, lingering inside Tim and infesting his once sane mind.

Tim looked away. He didn't want to talk about it.

"Alright, that's the last one," Dick broke the awkward silence. He smiled, dropping a metal key into a compartment of his utility belt. Tim, thankful for his free limbs, swung his legs over the medical bed and hopped off.

"Woah," he said as his legs turned into marshmallows and wobbled beneath him. He waved his arm in an act of regaining balance, but the ground was nearing. Luckily, though, Dick swooped beside him and caught hold of his waist, lifting him back up. He guided Tim until he was settled back on the foot of the bed, his feet six inches from hitting the floor.

"I don't think you're ready for walking yet, bud." Dick sat beside Tim on the thin mattress.

"Master Dick," Alfred's voice rang through the Bat Cave. "I believe we have a visitor."

Tim's head shot towards Dick, sending a sharp look at the older hero. He knew who it was before the mild mannered lady even walked through the door and down the steps.

Dick looked back at Tim. He may have narrowed his eyes, but they still blazed with guilt.

"You lied," Tim whispered through gritted teeth.

Dick smiled, as if to put on an entirely different mask of hospitality for the new guest. He barely moved his lips when two words slipped through his grin. "Be. Nice."

His head turned to the woman, smoothly standing and guiding her to a black swivel chair positioned directly next to Tim. "Thank you for coming, Leslie. I know it's been a difficult few months for you."

Tim's glare never left Dick as the doctor settled into the chair. He heard Leslie offer a warm greeting to both Dick and Barbara, but Tim didn't hear it. His mind was analyzing the setting, already developing over a dozen escape routes with the highest efficiency rates.

It wasn't like he was chained to a bed or a gun was pressed against his temple. If his legs would cooperate, he could have simply stood up and walked out of the room, unscathed. He calculated that he could jump at least six feet from the people, but he would to manage crawling from there. Perhaps he could even reach a nearby room...with a lock. But where from there? He couldn't deny that it was most strategic to prove his good health now, so that later escapes would be nonessential.

His mind was so hardwired for strategic escapes that he hasn't even noticed his hand stretching back for the needle of sedative Tim saw Barbara lay under the side table earlier. He quickly reasserted his hand back into his lap, hoping no one noticed. Unfortunately, his efforts went unrewarded.

Three pairs of eyes glued to him like a specimen in a lab. He shifted uncomfortably. This wasn't any different than with the Reach. They were just using him. _Everyone was just using him._

"Hello, Tim," Leslie smiled, her sincere voice sending a wave of warm radiation through the room. Her gray hair was light and airy, curling around her ears and cutting off right above her shoulders. She wore a gray skirt, a white blouse with a sharp collar, and a lavender sweater with a single silver button at the top. Her medical bag lay at her feet, bulging with mysterious equipment. Her small lips were a pale pink and her eyes were a subtle welcoming green. Leslie was the kind of person you wouldn't think twice about spilling your secrets to. Tim surmised it was one of her tactics to ensure truthful patients. "How are you feeling?"

Despite her calming presence, Tim clenched his fists at the question. _'Are you okay, Tim?' 'How are you?' 'Do you feel alright?' _He wished people would stop. It wasn't like he was about to look at them straight in the eyes and tell them how miserable he was. He would just receive a few sympathetic looks and a phone call to a psychiatrist.

"Fine," he managed. He looked up at Dick, who wore a deadly serious expression that somehow saidif-you-cooperate-then-maybe-I'll-consider-addi ng-ice-cream-to-your-diet.

"Dick tells me that you've been having a rough transition from your previous predicament," Leslie continued, suddenly now holding a clipboard and pen on her lap.

'_You should know that he says a lot of things he doesn't mean,'_ Tim wanted to say, but instead, he gave a half-hearted smile and said, "As smooth as a transition can be from an alien organization's test lab." He closed one eye, pushing the memories farther back into the depths of his mind where they would be forever, always lingering but never seeing the light, thriving in a locked cage and never healing.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

'_Here we go,' _thought Tim, fighting every instinctive urge to turn on his heels and run. But like Dick, he put on his mask and smiled, pretending like nothing was wrong. Like the three dozen murders he had on his back never happened. Like his mind wasn't scarred from the traumatic kidnapping. Like he was the same boy that headed into the Hall of Justice one month and a half ago, signing in for the mission that would steal him from his family.

He folded his hands together.

And he lied.

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_Bat Cave Medical Station_

_June 23 2017 [2200 hours]_

It was the longest three hours of Tim's life. And he had endured a year of Bat-family lectures. And Space Camp. And he could still honestly say that he had endured no worse of time than in the heart of the Bat Cave as his session with Doctor Leslie slowly slid to a close.

He almost let out a sigh of relief when she stood and asked to talk to Dick and Barbara privately. They consented, leading Leslie into a far corner of the Bat Cave, right out of ear shot, so Tim couldn't hear a word.

When they returned, Tim was surprised to find out that he had been subconsciously counting the seconds and was aware of the exact time they had spent conversing. He smiled, feeling his inner clock slowly recovering its sharp accuracy.

"Thank you again, Leslie." Dick handed the doctor her medical bag. "Would you like me to show you out?"

"Thank you, Richard, but I know the way. I want to catch Alfred on the way out, anyways. He promised me a cup of tea before I left," she smiled, and suddenly there were too many people in one dark cave with wide grins across their face than there should have been. Tim let his own smirk fade when the doctor turned to him and said her final words. "I'll be seeing you again, Timothy." She changed direction and began walking towards the stairway. "If you need me, you know my number."

Once the secret passageway of the Cave swallowed Doctor Leslie, Tim looked up to see Dick and Barbara towering over him, their concerned expressions apparent. Their eyes told Tim everything Leslie had discussed with them, but somehow they still found it necessary to confirm it verbally.

But he didn't want to hear it. In fact, his hand had already stretched to the far end of the mattress, ready to pull himself off of the bed.

"No," Dick said, pulling the boy's arm away from the bedside. "Tim, you need to listen." He looked at Tim like he had never met him before in his life. Like they were complete strangers just exchanging a message. "Your session with Doctor Leslie…"

'_Went well,' _thought Tim. He answered all the questions like he would have prior to the kidnapping. He didn't hint at any mental schisms or additional physical damage. And he was definitely proud solely at the fact that he had lasted four plus hours without strangling or ripping a limb off of anyone within a thirty foot radius.

"…opened our eyes to the situation at hand. She's a smart woman, Tim, and I think you should take her advice into deep consideration."

'_Oh no.'_ Tim thought, but he didn't dare say a word. The tension in the air was so thick he swore it was choking him to death.

"To the world, you've been missing for over a month. Suspicion is growing. Barbara's been keeping tabs on Gordon and we know he's already got three calls in to investigate your case. We're in the process of making up a story, but if Tim Drake isn't seen soon, Wayne Enterprises is going to have the press on our tails for sending the missing child's father on a business trip one week after his first recorded disappearance." Breathing in slowly, Tim realized Dick was about to confirm what he had earnestly tried to prevent since the moment he woke in the Batcave. "She thinks she knows the next step for you and the case. Barbara," he glanced at the redhead quickly, "and I both agree that it would be beneficial to…"

'_No. Don't say it, Dick.'_ He silently the moment he says it, Tim knew it would be the second it threads itself into reality.

Barbara leaned in closer, like she was about to hug him, but Tim flinched and drew backwards. He would have continued to turn and run, but his legs must have been frozen in place, because they weren't moving.

"She suggested that Tim Drake should be admitted into a psychiatric facility."

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**A/N: Dun Dun Dun. ****Okay, so at this point in my story's timeline, I've honestly changed where it's going a hundred times. And chapter 10's been rewritten like three times. So I know it's going to be a couple weeks before I update, but just know that a (hopefully) great climax is in the making.**

**I didn't have a lot of time, so this week's trivia question is sort of easy.**

_**Trivia Question #6: Jason Todd, after the Joker kills him, becomes an anti-hero who makes his name known throughout Gotham streets. What's his name?**_

**Remember to review!**


	10. Breaking Down

**A/N: Chapter 10 is finally up! (I thought it would NEVER be finalized) And it's even nice, long chapter to make up for the wait.**

**Last week's trivia question… which was super easy, but I was short on time, so I had to make something up fast… had the answer of **_**Red Hood**_**. Correct answers came from **_**Fantasize Day Dreams, Cahayafosc, GSDLover1623, Wondering Snow, Ooo-shiny, kittymitten, Lakeshine, Guest, Dente15, **__**red-sparrow-97**__**, **__**Stronger123**__**, shejams, Sithlord12345, **__**Kilana89**__**, irisgoddess,**_** and **_**Salworks**_**!**

**Speaking of Red Hood, I've gotten a few requests to somehow integrate the character of Jason Todd into this story. As a big fan of the anti-hero himself and his relationship with the rest of the Batfamily, I had been considering this option for some time. Unfortunately, it became too complicated to introduce another huge element and find a way to resolve it in coordination with the events I had planned to happen since the beginning. If you would be interested in a fic following Red Hood, though, I can promise you that I would feature him in my next fanfiction. I'm definitely planning on centering it around him, Tim, Dick, and possibly Barbara, though I probably won't have it ready to update until mid-summer.**

**Just for clarity as you read this chapter: I know the Hall of Justice is destroyed in April, but the dates in this story are mainly for the sake of time gaps/ understanding the time laps of events and I didn't realize I would need the Hall until I wrote this chapter…. So let's pretend that in this dimension, the Mountain exploded by June 24, but the Hall still remains intact. **

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Chapter 10: Breaking Down

_Wayne Manor Property_

_June 24 2017 [0800 hours]_

You couldn't have captured such a radiant source of brilliance in a picture. Even through his sunglasses, Tim could feel its incredible warmth and subtle yellow glow, as if a living breathing sun had made its way onto the front lawn of Wayne Manor.

He could have honestly remained on the front steps of the large house forever. Six weeks thrown between darkness and artificial light had drained him of the natural energy that a summer morning provided. He couldn't lie. The Vitamin D was revitalizing.

Swinging the foot of his single crutch onto the pavement before Barbara got the chance to link arms and help him down the steps, Tim let the sunlight's embrace guide him down the long walkway of the familiar Manor.

By the time he reached the gate, Barbara had fallen in step beside the younger teenager. "Tim, we need to stay together. Dick would kill the both of us if I lost you."

Tim nodded distantly. It had taken Barbara an hour to convince Dick to let her take him out on a walk. She insisted that it would be one step in Tim's healing process, but Dick was too concerned about Tim's mental and physical health to even consider letting him loose. After four separate arguments with both Tim and Barbara, Dick claimed to have finally accepted defeat.

But Tim was smart enough to know that he hadn't let the broken Boy Wonder out of his cage for a one-with-nature therapy session. It was a test. Take a lap around the block and come back in one piece, and Dick would consider declining Leslie's offer. But if Tim offered a comment even a word off his usual…he would be in a straightjacket in the local asylum by noon.

"Do you want to head down Riverdale?" Barbara asked, "We could even walk by your house—pick up a few of your things before we make our way back."

Tim shrugged as best as he could with a broken arm and managing a crutch. He was honestly happy to simply be exercising again. After such an ordeal, Tim was afraid it would be weeks before he parted with the medical bed. He could already feel muscles strengthening and the blood pumping through his legs. He hoped Dick would let him ditch the crutch sometime soon. "Yeah, I'll grab my laptop."

Barbara nodded. "Nice day, hmm?"

It was hard to imagine Gotham in any other colors than the monotonous black and gray. But today must have been an exception for the crime ridden city. The sky was a light azure and the grass a sharp emerald.

"I wonder if t—" The redhead stopped midsentence, ears perked to a rough source of noise. "Weird. Sounds almost like…"

"Screaming," Tim finished. As they turned the corner, however, they changed their assumptions.

"No," said Barbara, in awe at the group of people marching in step through the streets with large signs held in the air, "chanting." She turned to Tim and rested a hand on his shoulder. "We should go."

Tim was about to turn and leave. He honestly was. And it would have been a much simpler day if he had.

But that's not what happened. Because as he was leaving, the chants of the people rang in his ears like a clock. They struck a nerve nestled inside the depth of his brain, triggering a familiar voice to be released from its cage. And suddenly he saw everything clearly, as if he was watching a movie in high definition.

Dropping the crutch should have been the first sign of danger. By the time Barbara had picked it up, Tim was already sprinting halfway across the street, heading straight towards the protesters.

"We don't need an alien's helping hand; don't drink the Reach's beverage brand!"

Two dozen protesters outside a convenience store in the heart of Gotham. He had practiced this simulation hundreds of times. They were merely weak humans with too little of mind to know what was right for their race. This was going to be easy.

Barbara watched in horror as Tim jumped straight into the group's marching circle. Screaming erupted from the mass as one after another of their fellow rebels fell to the ground with broken spines and snapped necks. The crowd thickened as onlookers fled the scene and cars swerved in the road, causing a small traffic jam. She weaved through the obstacles, tempted to pull out her utility belt she had tucked under her shirt. As she made her way through the last wave of people, she removed her hand from her waist, realizing that there were too many witnesses to potentially threaten her identity.

She didn't recognize Tim when she was looking straight at him. He was alone, a thirty foot radius of inhabited space around him. He had ripped off his sling and thrown it on the cement, and his sunglasses lay broken at his feet. Hunched over a dozen dead bodies sprawled across the cement. Two–inch thick blood puddles formed around abandoned protest signs and water bottles.

Barbara cautiously neared from behind. Over the boy's shoulder she could see an older man in Tim's grasp. His hands wrapped around the kneeling victim's neck, slowly tightening. The gray-haired man trembled, his short white beard swaying with the vibrations.

"Plea-ease," he begged, eying Tim's hold on his neck, "I h-have grandchildren… and a w-wife."

"Tim, no!" screamed Barbara as she laid a hand on his shoulder and pulled him away from the man.

Tim unexpectedly spun, his fist colliding with her jaw and sending her stumbling backwards. She shook her head to regain sight and balance, in hopes of stepping between Tim and his victim before the boy could do anymore damage. But her hopes transpired to be nothing more than anticipation.

She cringed at the harsh snap. A helpless scream echoed through Gotham, in search of recognition. A thud signaled that Tim had dropped the lifeless body.

Barbara watched Tim draw nearer, smoothly and silently, like he had practiced this stance for a thousand years. Splatters of red stained his shirt and face. His eyes were wide, but somehow incredibly calm and collected.

"I'm so sorry," whispered Barbara, noting the bright lights and police sirens that had entered through the far end of the street. Slipping a thin, transparent needle out of her hidden utility belt and into her fingers, she charged at Tim with her armed hand directed straight towards his neck.

Tim didn't move until the needle was inserted deep into the flesh of his neck. He fell unto the cement, black spots crowding his vision of the accumulating fog, and shrill screaming almost overpowering the subtle beeping of a radio transmission.

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_Aircraft_

_June 24 2017 [1000 hours]_

He woke to white lights. A metal table. Empty needles. The soft hum of gliding through the depths of the sky. Sharp electronic beeps as figures hovered over laptops and rapidly typed on keyboards. Once Tim's consciousness had been noticed, they seemed to work even faster, quicker, like the countdown on a bomb had gone from five minutes to fifteen seconds in a heartbeat.

Tim, slightly groggy from (what he thought was an overdose of) sedatives. He stretched out his arms, thankful that no chains had been put in place, and swung his legs off the metal slab. After hopping off, he joined the determined Dick and Barbara in the main section of the Bat Plane's recreation area.

His mind fluttered with broken memories of rhythmic chanting, screaming crowds, blood-stained hands. He was already planning how to explain the situation to Dick, but Tim was afraid he wasn't going to get the chance. What would Tim think if he heard Dick had killed a dozen innocent people in the heart of a crowd? And so short after returning from weeks of Reach-induced torture? The Bat Plane was probably already headed to the psychiatric facility.

Still, he believed he wasn't crazy. If anything, there was a mere programming installation that needed to be repaired. Something had triggered a mental relapse… And yet he felt the most dire need to attack the protesters, as if the opportunity to fulfill his prophesy lay before his very eyes.

_What is your purpose of life?_ Caralack had asked him a mere week prior.

_To destroy the Justice League, _he had responded.

Tim shook his head. Attacking a protest group was far from tackling the feat of killing the world's greatest superheroes. But maybe the Reach had instilled more programs in him than he even realized.

"How did I get on the Bat Plane?" He asked, still trying to completely understand the events of the day.

Dick didn't even look up as he responded. "Actually, it's the Bat Jet. The Bat Plane had an engine malfunction on our last trip to the Clock King's hideout, so we had to improvise. I don't think you two have met."

It may have been true that it was Tim's first trip on the Dark Knight's jet, but the differences between the two aircrafts went unnoticed by even the World's Greatest Detective's protégé. "Where are we going?" He half-wished Dick wouldn't answer, because although he was certain their destination was far from the tropical beaches of the Caribbean, he couldn't think he could handle hearing about his prescription to a mental institution.

"Someplace safe."

"Safe?" Tim was already feeling frustration accumulating at the lack of eye contact from the older heroes. "From what? Dick, _what_ is going on? What are you and Barbara doing?"

Dick worked for a moment more, masked eyes hidden by thick strands of black hair that almost hit the shiny screen of his laptop, but he suddenly stopped, and breathing slowly, he closed the laptop cover. He lifted his head, but his focus fell on the far wall instead of Tim. Nightwing must have transferred security camera footage unto the large monitor, because images of the Boy Wonder layered over the screen. "Fifteen people. Fifteen dead."

The words washed over Tim, straining to register in his brain as his mind wrapped around the grainy black and white pictures. Each one hit him hard, leaving another wound exposed. They may not have been the greatest of quality, but he could easily recognize the faces of the victims he opposed earlier in the morning. He could feel their eternal imprint in his mind.

"You lied Tim," Dick accused, "it was you who killed those people we found in the dump sites, wasn't it?"

The question lurked in the warm air. More images piled on the holographic display. The footage replayed the scene where Tim had snapped an elderly man's neck. Tim tightened his grip on the side of the chair he was hanging on to. His vision was blurring and he could feel himself being pulled away from the monitor screen's enrapture.

"Answer the question, Tim." Dick's stern voice rang in Tim's ears. His natural instincts were running mad. He closed his eyes and tried to escape the tension of the room. He would have attempted to physically run from the situation as well, but a firm hand wrapped around his wrist and kept him in place.

Then, in an instant, the air went cool and flat. Sudden silence crept its way through the jet. Tim could feel Barbara's interference from his position across the room. He knew he must have looked crazy, so he finally dared to open his eyes once again.

"Tim," Dick started again, but this time, his voice was incredibly strained and tightened, and yet a single thread of compassion made its way into the heart of the dark haired boy. "I know this may be difficult, but you need to tell us what the Reach did to you. It's the only way we can help you heal."

When Tim looked at Dick, he was met with sharp blue, unmasked eyes. "But you already know, don't you? You're hoping that you're wrong, that maybe the Reach didn't change me, but I lived six weeks separated from any hope of being rescued, or what the world really had become."

Barbara must have been denying it too, because she quickly changed the subject before Dick could respond. "You're not in pain?"

It was not immediate that Tim understood the meaning of the question. He hadn't, in fact, observed anything peculiar within the last five minutes since he awoke. But when his mind wrapped around the inquiry, it sent his eyes scanning down his body. His shifted on his legs-his completely stable and healthy legs. He stretched his right arm, the bone in one piece and free of pain. He then noticed the absence of blue tubes. The medical structure had been completely removed, leaving small red marks at various places where bolts had once been present.

"I'm healed," Tim confirmed, trying hard to hide the awe lacing his voice.

"We disengaged the medical structure last night. Somehow your body had independently healed itself…Hmm," A flash of light spread from the laptop Barbara was holding, and she smiled, lifting her head to where Dick sat across the room. "The police reports have been erased."

"Great," said Dick, though his voice may have withheld no more significance than a distant nod, "I'm almost finished with the news cast."

"Newscast?" Tim's heart sunk, "the accident got on air?"

"For two minutes and thirteen seconds. You're just lucky no names were mentioned. Barbara and I have been erasing all records of the last two hours. If it works, the fifteen people you—"

Barbara cleared her throat nonchalantly, and Dick, acknowledging the hint, changed the direction of his sentence.

"…the Reach directly or indirectly caused you to harm will never have existed."

It may have appeared to be reassuring to be certain the local Gotham Police wouldn't be knocking on his doors with handcuffs, but Dick's voice was a low melancholy, and Tim knew better than to judge the situation by the surface. "Their families…their friends… they'll always know."

"What was I supposed to do, Tim? Erase the entirety of their memory and have the victims' lives been completely in vain? We're digging ourselves into a hole, here," he paused, as if to say something more, but instead, he retreated back into the enthrallment of his computer screen.

Before Tim could ask another question, rapid blinking escaped the technological gloves of the two older heroes. Tim was about to check his own on instinct, but was met with a bare wrist. He didn't know if it would make him feel more at home, but he was itching to put the suit back on.

Barbara's red hair grew lurid as scarlet lights reflected off the walls of the room.

"We're here."

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_Washington D.C._

_June 24 2017 [1100 hours]_

The Hall of Justice.

He could remember the first time he walked through the doors, warmly welcomed by the Justice League as Batman's third protégé. Of course, at that time, the respectful mourning of Jason's death was still thick in the air, and he was well aware that he would have to prove himself not only to the original members of the Bat Family, but to every hero in commission prior to the third Boy Wonder.

As he walked through the large open doors of the memorial building, he realized that this day was no different. Skepticism of Tim's physical and mental health would be a barrier in front of every one of his teammates' eyes. He would have to prove himself once again—but this time, he had fifteen murders he committed in public property and the pity of six weeks of torture on the table.

He took a long, drawn out breath. The last thing he wanted was to have the Team look at him like he was a broken kid.

A bright light ran over Tim's dark sunglasses as the computer scanned him for an identity worthy of entering the main portion of the Hall. It seemed to have consented, because the next thing he knew, Tim was looking into the faces of everyone affiliated with the covert team of young superheroes.

There couldn't have possibly been a more awkward moment than the silence following his entrance. Apprehension lurked. No one dared to speak. Not even Impulse had the courage to wave, or greet their familiar friend. Maybe they were inspecting the blood that still stained Tim's sweatpants.

Not a moment too soon, Tim felt Dick's hand grip his shoulder and steer him away from the awed crowd. Tim's head was facing the floor, earnestly attempting to avoid any eye contact, but he still managed to sneak a glance at Dick's stern glare aimed at the Team.

Once they had reached a vacant room in the hallway, Tim settled on a metal chair, bent forward with his hands covering his face and pushing his sunglasses to the floor. The position only lasted for a moment, though, as he dropped his hands and lifted his head when he felt the stare of a concerned older hero who had chosen the seat opposite of Tim's.

Dick handed Tim the fallen sunglasses from the floor. "Barbara's talking to the Team now."

Tim's shoulders slouched and his expression was heavy with exhaustion as he slipped the sunglasses back unto his nose. He hated keeping his identity a secret, and he had hoped that Dick and Barbara would let it go when Bruce left, but it seemed that ever since that day, both had worked even harder to shield Tim from any potential danger—even letting his own teammates call him by his real name. "Telling them what? That their once-sane Robin lost his mind sometime inbetween believing everyone he cared for was dead and becoming the Reach's personal experimental subject?" Tim scoffed, tempted to bury his head in his hands once again. But he remained in his upright position, afraid that Dick would exaggerate any fault into deathly peril.

"They're worried about you, Tim."

"They shouldn't be." He looked at Dick earnestly, "I feel fine."

Nightwing shook his head. "You're acting like you skinned your knee in the park. This isn't something you can slap a band-aid on and get back on your bike! You were kidnapped by the Reach, " He lowered his voice, "_tortured_ by the Reach for six weeks." He sighed, resting his hands back on his knees, "Tim, we—me, Barbara, the Team, we all thought you were dead. And-and now you're here, alive. We just want to help you heal."

There was a minute a silence. Tim could barely hear Barbara's faint voice seeping in the room from the hall.

"You have no idea what it's like."

"Humor me," Dick smiled half-heartedly, "The Joker's played a few of his tricks o—"

"Dick, I'm not talking about having ten thousand volts of electricity sent through your spine… I could handle that… but I lived so long believing that everyone was dead or brainwashed into becoming mere machines of the Reach… If there was no hope of escaping to _you_ or anyone, then what reason did I have to resist them?"

Dick leaned forward, "And no one blames you for succumbing. You were Robin for less than a year. We hadn't trained you to compensate in these circumstances… honestly, we were hoping these circumstances would never present themselves. But if I keep dwelling on what I could have done instead of what I have to do now, I wouldn't be helping you heal," Dick sighed, "Tim, you need to let us in. What happened on that ship?"

The fourteen-year-old's sunglasses had slid to the tip of his nose. "I didn't want to hurt anyone, I promise."

This was the moment Dick had been waiting for. Ever since they had rescued Tim from the Reach ship, he was waiting to breaking open Tim's shell. He had learned from personal experience that the first step in the healing process is to overcome denial. And Tim was deep in it.

But just then, a red and white teenager burst through the door of the small vacant room. His eyes were wide even behind his yellow goggles. Strands of his long hair fell over his forehead from the sheer speed he had achieved by the time he reached the door.

He seemed to have been in such a rush, Dick and Tim barely heard the single sentence he was sent to deliver before he turned and sped down the hallway.

"Houston, we have a problem."

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_Hall of Justice: Inner Quarters_

_June 24 2017 [1100 hours]_

"Ouch," Tim mumbled as he and Dick swiftly walked through the long hallway and into the main room of the Team's headquarters. The older teenager gripped the younger boy's wrist and pulled him along as if the entire building had spontaneously combusted into a reign of orange flames, and Dick was the only one who could see through the smoke.

The only orange flames in sight, however, were the thick strands of a nearing red head's hair.

"'Wing, I need to talk to you."

"Not now Wally, I'm about to assess an issue." Dick's eyes had settled on Barbara, who, from across the room, had pulled up a screen bearing an image he couldn't identify.

Wally grasped Dick's arm and pulled him to the side, breaking the connection between the two Bat family members. "No, we'll do this now," his voice may have been a whisper, but it was strong enough to express his annoyance, "Why was it that I had to learn of Tim's disappearance from Artemis?"

Nightwing's focus, which had followed Tim's trail to an open holographic computer, moved to his best friend's concerned expression. "I'm sorry, Wally. I was so busy looking for him… I guess I ju—"

"After Jason died, you promised me that if anything happened to Tim, you would tell me, so that I could not only help _him_, but also keep an eye on _you_." Wally shook his head, "I saw what you became when the Joker killed Jason. I don't want history to repeat itself."

"I understand your concern, Wally, but I can control my emotions."

"C'mon, Dick," Barbara yelled through the room, "You have to see this."

"He'll be there in a second," Wally responded for the Team leader, then turned to his best friend. "So about Tim… How is he?"

"He'll be fine… He just needs some time to readjust."

Wally nodded, and let Dick free. "I'll check in with you again. You're not going through this alone."

Dick didn't acknowledge the last comment. Instead, he walked across the large room, his mind wrapping around his conversation with Wally. Why had he chosen not to call him when he discovered the details of Tim's kidnapping?

"Nightwing," someone called his name, and Dick turned to where the current Robin stood, whose eyes were once again shielded by sunglasses. "You never told me why we came here. I mean, all of the places to go, and you choose the Hall of Justice?"

Dick stood, desperately wanting to collapse from the excitement of the day. He didn't even need to say one word for Tim to receive the message.

"Barbara assigned a mission?" Tim's expression was a mix of thrill and apprehension. "To where? What's it for?"

Dick let out a deep breath. "I can't talk to you about this now." Then, on his heels, he turned and walked into the small crowd of people that had formed a semi circle around a culmination of security footage. "What's the issue?" he asked Barbara, who's fingers rapped over the holographic images on the screen.

"It's the Reach." Her head whipped around to face her partner. "They're here."

Dick's eyes widened beneath his mask. "How did they know?" Then he shook his head, "It doesn't matter now. We need to get Tim out of here."

"Agreed," said Barbara, "Take the Bat Jet with Tim. The rest of the Team already has their squad groupings and mission assignments. I'll finish up here and catch a ride with Alpha."

By the time Nightwing had made his way back to the third Robin, a red and green elevation map was spread across another canvas of air. Several points were marked in red pins connected to smaller "zoomed-in" images of the corresponding cities and towns. The Boy Wonder seemed to be absorbed in his research, and yet when Dick rested his hand on the young hero's shoulder, he willingly spun, smiling mischievously.

"Tim, get in the Bat Jet. We think the Reach may be trailing us."

"I know," said Tim, "But I also know _where_ we should go." He half turned to point out a small country on the eastern coast of Africa. "Sierra Leone. I know the Team's mission is to track down Reach transport ships, like the one I was on. This is one of the locations we're checking out. Apparently there was a series of youth disappearances there in the last two weeks."

"Just stop, Tim. We have to go somewhere that the Reach _won't _find us."

"And the last place the cargo ship I was assigned to would look for me is in the heart of another Reach ship. It's perfect! And I could help search in the meantime, right?"

"Tim, we talked about this. You're not ready."

The current Robin looked both confused and hurt. Perhaps he truly believed that he was completely competent of taking down an entire army. "I can handle this, I promise! Why can't you trust me?"

Dick's face was so contorted in frustration that his mask threatened to fall off. "This isn't a debate. Tim," he pleaded with the boy. His hand attempted to grab Tim's arm, but the younger hero stumbled backwards in fear. "Physically? You're fine. But Mentally? Psychologically?" Dick sighed, "How can you possibly tell me that you have the capability to jump back into crime fighting when you just involuntarily killed fifteen people with your bare hands?"

Tim froze. Dick wasn't sure he could see through the boy's dark shades, but it was clear his eyes were narrow slits.

Barbara's voice carried through the room. "Dick, you and Tim need to leave _now._"

Dick looked at Tim like he was about to kill someone. "Don't make me sedate you, Tim."

The younger teenager didn't hear the threat. Instead, he was eyeing the back exit of the Hall, where Blue Beetle, Lagoon Boy, Wonder Girl, and Superboy were heading.

And the next thing he knew, a sharp pain in his neck sent a wave of darkness over his eyes, and he didn't even feel a pair of arms catching him before he hit the ground.

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**A/N: Now that school's out, I should be updating more frequently, hopefully back to my Saturday schedule. Chapter 11's already a thousand words down. *cheers***

_**Trivia Question #7: Who was the first Batgirl? Bonus: What were the names of the following Batgirls?  
**_

**Please review! =)  
**


	11. Breaking Wings

**A/N: Sorry for the late update! I hadn't made the connection between my update-every-Saturday plan and my weekend trip… ;) **

**Last week's trivia question was naming the first Batgirl. The answer was Betty/Bette Kane! Correct answers came from **_**Lakeshine, Ooo-shiny, **__**shejams**__**, Irisgoddess, **_**and **_**Chaos is Order**_**. Great job **_**Stronger123**__**, Lakeshine, Ooo-shiny, shejams, Chaos is Order, Irisgoddess, Guest,**_** and **_**iq-of-a-banana **_**for naming some of the following Batgirls too!**

**Enjoy the chapter!**

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Chapter 11: Breaking Wings

_Bat Jet_

_June 24 2017 [1200 hours]_

"What is it with the Bats using sedatives?" Tim rubbed the back of his neck, where a small band-aid had been applied over a puncture mark. When he heard jingling, his eyes averted to his right hand, which rested on the arm of his metal chair positioned in the corner of the large room. "And restraints…"

He didn't need to survey the room to know where he was. They were in the Bat Jet. Dick had won.

Tim watched as Dick paced around the opposite side of the room. His communicator must have been turned on, or perhaps he was talking to himself, but when he saw that Tim had woken, he left the conversation at "we'll be there," and walked over to the chair nestled in the corner of two walls. "Sorry, Tim, but those six weeks with the Reach must have made you more stubborn than you already were. I… needed to ensure your safety."

Tim looked at Dick solemnly. He could have argued his rights for hours, but it would never seep through to Dick's brain. "You know, sometimes I wonder if you're trying _so hard_ to keep me alive for _my own_ good, or for _your own_ sanity. You couldn't handle another death in the family, could you?"

Tension filled the air. Tim knew where to hit.

"This isn't about me." Dick towered over Robin, who had to stretch his neck so far to see him that the back of his head hit the wall behind him. "This is about your inability to follow orders. I shouldn't have to sedate you every time you don't agree with what I say."

"Just like Jason, right?" Tim pressed. When he realized the only response Dick offered was a stern but disheartened stare, he ran with his argument. "If you keep me in a cage forever, I won't ever have the chance to prove to you that I'm not _him_… that I can handle this role, like you did." Tim's voice was soft, afraid of trampling over Dick's heart and jeopardizing his reputation of genuine consideration. He was content with the older hero simply listening to his input. Maybe he would understand.

However, this was not the case. Even a distant glance at Nightwing would lead you to the assumption that his brand new Porsche had been stolen from the garage of Wayne Manor. His eyes were incredibly small and narrowed behind his black mask. His mouth was a single thin line that shook with anger, which coursed through his body in rapid volts and practically caused it to glow with rage. Tim couldn't see properly from his position, as he was focused on maintaining a death-glare on his blue and black mentor, but he could catch a glimpse of Dick's hands balling into tight fists.

It was a mistake. He should have never mentioned Jason Todd. And if anything worse could have happened, it was the presence of Tim's natural will to win an argument (in which, by the looks of Dick's predicament, Nightwing was either about to stalk out of the room, or beat Tim to a pulp). The Bats were never ones to conform anyways.

He really should have stopped talking before he even began.

"Do you seriously believe I'm some incarnation of his lost soul? We're two different people, Dick. The day you stop comparing me to Jason will be the moment you can finally see how ready I am for this position." Tim's comments were sharp, as he gradually raised his voice in expressing his opinions, his moral conscious completely left in the dark, "You, Barbara, Bruce… You all think I'm some little, pathetic kid, don't you? When will you realize that _earned_ this cape?"

Dick was breathing heavily. It was obvious that he was trying to control his emotions, but the rage was making the best of him, and he seemed to consent with wallowing in his own silence, anger fuming from within, like a war raging between mind and instinct. His mouth opened a few times as Tim spoke, barely producing a murmured word or two, but he seemed to rethink what he was about to say, and settle for the greater good.

"And I'm a _good_ Robin, I am. If you would just—"

"Tim!" Dick burst out, enraged in the contempt of the conversation. He seemed to have begun to control his anger, though, as if a burden was about to be lifted from his shoulders. "You're done," his voice lowered tremendously, laced with concern, "Your days as Robin are over."

Time froze. The 14-year-old felt his sore lungs inhale, then exhale slowly, his chest rising achingly. He focused on his breathing, because he knew the second he let his thoughts wander to the life he would have without the company of his Team and the cool nights of patrol would stop his heart, his lungs, his soul from functioning. It was like being told that the colors of the universe had been stolen, and he was left to watch it fly away in blazing radiance, forever left in the world of black and gray.

Dick might as well have shot him.

Nightwing was saved by the beeping of his communicator. He turned away from Tim when he answered the call.

"Look, Wally, Tim is fine. What could have changed in the last f—" He stopped talking. Tim would have heard what Wally was saying if he wasn't in a stupor of shock. "It's nothing, really," Dick paused, "Wait—how did you know?" It wasn't like he was chipper before, but suddenly the mood in the room dropped another ten degrees (far into the negatives) as mumbles of Wally's distant murmur made its way unto Tim's lap. As he spoke, Dick's hand ran over his shoulder blade, as if to detect something. When it appeared that he had, he removed the small device from his dark suit and threw it out of the only open window in the Bat Jet. "Thanks, Wally. You may be on to something."

When Dick turned to face Tim again, he was holding a small handheld tool with a red blinking light. He didn't even look at Tim as he began swaying the device in the air. After a few minutes of scanning the area, he stepped back, slipped the detector into a compartment of his utility belt, and slumped into a black seat a few yards from Tim's chair.

Tim seemed to have replaced his shock with anger, as he looked upon Dick with narrowed eyes. He must have figured silence was the best way to communicate his rage, because his mouth stayed firmly shut, pressed into a thin line, and his eyes did all the talking.

"We're almost there."

Dick didn't wait for Tim to ask where they were going. He knew the boy was dreading the sight of a psychiatric ward. And however tense the feud was between them, Dick wanted Tim to know he was giving him a second chance. For now. So he answered the unsaid question.

"To visit an old friend."

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_Palo Alto_

_June 24 2017 [1400 hours]_

"Great, you're here," Wally greeted the guests at his door. He ran a hand through his wild red hair as he gestured for them to enter the living room of his house. Once the visitors had entered, he closed the door behind them and stepped beside Artemis, who had just walked into the room. "Where did you park?"

"Across the street, near the old rundown factory. It's on camouflage mode, don't worry," Dick smiled at the couple. He had changed into civilian clothing before they landed, and had handed Tim a black duffel bag, which must have been a "just-in-case-a-foreign-alien-race-is-after-us" spare supply case from Dick's time as Robin, because dust had accumulated over the dark leather straps and loose pockets like ants on a picnic blanket. Tim brushed the dirt off, spattering his clothes with brown spots and sending a wave of sand into the air.

Wally didn't seem to notice. He looked at the younger teenager with his bright green eyes. "How are you, Tim?"

"Fine," Tim offered, avoiding eye contact with his older friend. His voice was rough from yelling, and his throat was sore from grief. He would have traded anything in the world for a good ten hours of sleep.

"Ahh," Wally sighed dramatically, "the classic '_I'm fine'_ move. Did you know that Dick practically invented that? I remember the time when Batm—"

Dick cleared his throat to stop Wally from continuing. The redhead sent the Bat an innocent look as Artemis stepped in, taking the old bag from Tim's hand. "Why don't I show you to the guest room?"

Tim consented, following the agile blonde out of the room. Dick and Wally watched as they left, waiting to hear the footsteps fade from the hallway.

Wally's high-spirited mood suddenly warped into a serious expression. "You told him."

Dick shut his eyes. He could feel the pressure of the entire planet wrap around his heart. Sleep was calling his name. "Told him what?"

Wally shook his head. "You know exactly what I'm talking about. I know what a hurt hero looks like when I see one. Tim didn't deserve this."

"I'm trying to protect him, Wally."

"By taking away the only thing that connects him to you? To Barbara? To Bruce? He needs your guidance. Not a sentence to normality."

"It worked out fine for you, didn't it?" Dick pushed past Wally and headed for the wall connecting the hallway and the living room, "You can't tell me that pulling him away from Robin won't keep Tim safe… won't keep him alive."

Wally sighed, following in Dick's trail. "Of course I can't. But is he truly alive when he's living without a soul?" He paused, "When Bruce would threaten your position, how did you feel? Like this life meant so much to you that you couldn't imagine going on as just another normal kid? Like it would kill you inside knowing that you could do nothing to promote justice and save innocent people from the criminals of Gotham, like the ones who killed your parents?"

"These aren't the same circumstances, Wally. Things were different back then. And I was careful."

"Were you really? I don't remember a certain nine-year-old having an abundance of self-control. Or am I the only one that recalls the day when you at—"

Dick turned and looked at Wally. He willed himself to smile, so the friendly speedster wouldn't get the impression that Dick was losing his sense of humor. "We did a lot of stupid things, Wally. But Tim can't make those same mistakes. He has to be more alert, more ready, more meticulous than I ever was." Dick sighed. Why couldn't Wally understand how hard it was to lose one member of the Bat Family? "I'm sorry, Wally. But this is my decision. And Tim's safety takes priority."

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_Palo Alto: Guest Room_

_June 24 2017 [1400 hours]_

'_He's wrong,' _a distant whisper echoed through the small golden room. Tim was sure it was the cause of a sharp pain that ran through his head, but when he turned to see who was talking, no one was there.

'_I know you can hear me, Subject 1-02,'_ the raspy voice said again. This time, Tim stood, pressing two fingers against his temple and staring down the walls for the face of an alien he hoped to never see again. _'And I know how you feel. Mistreated. Frustrated. Aching for a chance to prove your potential.' _

Every time he spoke, Tim's head throbbed in pain.

'_These people you trust… they don't understand you.'_

Orange eyes. They were present everywhere he looked, but melted into the subtle yellow walls the moment he laid his sight on them. _'He's back,'_ Tim thought to himself.

'_No, Subject 1-02,' _Tim froze. They could hear what he was thinking, _'I never left.'_

Tim spun slowly, surveying the room with a raised eyebrow. _'I left you behind when I was rescued from the torture you subjected me to.'_

Caralack paused_, 'I understand why you may believe this, but it is not the case. We had only hoped to help you develop. What you were experiencing were mere tests.'_

Tim scoffed at the empty room. _'Don't make excuses. You were turning me into the Reach's personal robot.'_

'_I am uninformed of the meaning behind these humanly terms. Nevertheless, it is insignificant. I am only here to remind you of your mission. You do have memory of such undertakings?'_

'_I'm not doing it,' _said Tim,_ 'You don't own me.'_

'_And neither does Richard, if I recall. He does not have the right to steal your crime-fighting routine from you.'_

Tim shook his head. This wasn't real. Caralack couldn't be here. _'That's not the matter.'_

'_Ahh, but it is. Once you complete your mission, Subject 1-02, you will be well compensated. If a life of justice is what you wish, then we will supply much criminals.'_

'_You don't need to look hard. The Reach _are_ the criminals.'_

'_Believe what you wish, but remember this, Subject 1-02. Denying your destiny will always have consequences. And when these consequences regard those who you love, you will regret your actions, and the Reach will be waiting for your return.'_

An eerie silence crept through the room. Tim almost wished Caralack would appear in the doorway with his crooked smile. If someone else was here, then they could have heard what Tim heard. They could have told him he wasn't crazy, that whispers were really seeping through the carpet and into his head.

And yet, he was left alone, wallowing in his own grief. Perhaps Caralack truly understood how he was feeling. Maybe he could honestly offer Tim more than Dick could ever take away.

Tim screamed in frustration, laying his hands on a metal bookshelf and pushing it to the ground. This wasn't a conflict he wanted to ever be in the middle of. He would have given anything for the last two months of his life back.

He fell on the scarlet covers of the large guest room bed as low whispers rained over him, drowning him in madness.

'_Are you truly willing to pay the price for your insubordination?'_

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_Palo Alto: Guest Room_

_June 24 2017 [1500 hours]_

When Artemis entered the guest room again, she found Tim hunched over on the corner of the bed besides a fallen bookshelf with his hands over his ears and low mumbling escaping his trembling mouth. She threw the soft navy towel she was holding on the side table as she stepped over the loose books and sat beside the boy.

"Can you hear them?" Tim asked Artemis, not bothering to look at her.

Artemis calmly looked around the room, perking her ears for any sound out of the ordinary. After disregarding a squeaky floor panel and the rusting of leaves against a window, however, she turned back towards Tim, defeated and shaking her head.

"They're here." Tim's voice was hollow, but in something much worse than fear. No, fear was the anxiety regarding_ if_ a monster was in your closet. Dread was the knowing that the monster _is_ in there, waiting to attack.

"Who's here?"

"The Reach." The former Boy Wonder dropped his hands from his ears and looked around the small room.

He was breathing heavily. Dick had told Artemis that Tim was mentally and emotionally unstable, but it was hard to see a close friend break down in front of you. She had known Tim since the first day he became the third Robin. And although she hated to admit it sometimes, the Bat Family was trained to be virtually imperturbable. They couldn't afford to falter like the rest of the Team.

"Tim, it's okay." She reassured soothingly. She wasn't sure what to say but, "You're safe here." She stood from the bed and rested a hand on his shoulder, smiling. "Now, let's go downstairs before Wally eats all the food in the fridge."

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_Palo Alto: Hallway_

_June 24 2017 [1500 hours]_

"Hungry?" Artemis asked as they passed the kitchen. Tim shook his head. The last thing he was concerned about was his appetite.

As they entered the living room and chose a spot on a lengthy tan couch, Wally's and Dick's conversation caught Tim's attention.

"Did you find a tracking device?" Wally asked his friend. He, like Dick, had lost his lighthearted touch. Why was it that everywhere Tim went, everyone acted like they had just witnessed a murder?

Dick shook his head, "The detector's results were negative, but they've got to be tracking him somehow." Tim widened his eyes, making the connection between Dick's comment and his device spasm earlier. "It doesn't make any sense. The Reach left a dead zone right where we entered and exited their ship; there weren't any guards for a good sixty feet from the room we found Tim in. They were practically letting us have him. Why would they suddenly change their mind and want him back?"

Wally shrugged as he peeled a ripe, yellow banana and bit the top off the fruit. He chewed thoughtfully, but didn't seem to understand the Reach's intentions either.

Dick must have forgotten that Tim was giving him the silent treatment, because when the older hero turned to look at him, Dick's expression read the normal 'overprotective-big-brother-superhero' look, with a hint of desperation thrown in. "Tim, do you have any idea why the Reach would have any interest in recapturing you?"

Tim was looking at Dick so hard, he was scowling. He had been debating about whether to tell Dick about Caralack's message, but Tim was sure he would just brush it off as a hallucination due to post-traumatic stress.

"They wouldn't," he said, trying hard to expose the anger stirring inside of him through his tone of voice. "The Reach had given up on me," he lied. His encounter with Caralack proved otherwise. Tim was wondering if Artemis would speak up, but she seemed too focused on brushing dust off of her jeans to even be listening to the talk. "I wasn't anything special to them, trust me. Just another kid off the street."

Tim's eyes narrowed at Dick. _'Just another kid off the street." _Like what he was now.

Dick seemed to understand the implication, and held his knowing gaze upon Tim with hurt eyes.

Two knocks at the door split the growing tension in the room. As Artemis rose to get it, Dick looked knowingly at Wally.

"They're here."

Tim didn't want to look at the guests standing on the front steps. He could feel their presence like a disease. The rustling of a straitjacket over their shoulders. Their squeaky boots that had been cleaned far too many times. They even smelled like the bleached white padded walls Tim was bound to be imprisoned in, or more accurately, bleached_ everything_.

"You didn't," Tim growled through tight, gritted teeth.

His death glare on Dick wasn't enough to keep his eyes from flickering over to the two white-suited men at the door. The worker standing in front didn't wait for a welcome, and started treading closer to him.

"Tim, look," Dick whispered quietly, so the two men wouldn't hear, "You were skateboarding at the time. The Reach herded you into their ship, along with a dozen other teenagers. When Batgirl and Nightwing rescued you, you were the only one left. Since your father was out of town, the heroes contacted the police. Dick Grayson heard, and quickly offered to watch you for the last few weeks of your father's business trip."

The first worker had already gripped Tim's left arm. Tim looked desperately at Dick.

"I'm not crazy!" he pleaded, "You _know_ I'm not crazy!"

Dick mouthed the words, "I'm sorry," and stepped away as the white-clothed man caught hold of Tim's other hand and pulled both arms behind his back. Tim would have flipped the worker over his shoulder and snapped his neck if he hadn't been too absorbed in shock to even comprehend what was happening.

Hadn't he been given a second chance? What wrong could he have done to have the psychiatric ward make a house call to pick up a patient?

He felt a heavy weight mount against his back. The grip around his wrists loosened. Tim looked behind him to see the man's head resting limp against the young teenager's back. His eyes were wide and dilated. Glossy blood curdled from his mouth and unto the shoulder of Tim's white t-shirt. As Tim stepped away, his body slumped unto the floor.

He checked his hands, afraid that he had unconsciously caused another round of innocent killings. But when his sight landed on Dick and Wally, he followed their stunned gazes to the doorway, where the second worker stood at the door, in what looked like a trance. He would have looked exceptionally normal (besides being slightly dazed) if not for the gaping hole where his stomach should have been. The door frame was splattered in crimson blood. The worker collapsed.

A cold breeze swept through the room. Within the last five minutes, it had started to rain. Murky clouds spread over the sky. Lightning flashed. Dark figures erupted from the storm, piling inside the house one by one, in a single, orderly line.

Someone cursed.

"Wally," he barely heard Dick's voice over the thunder, "get Tim to safety. We'll hold them off."

Another crack of lightning.

Dick pulled his concealed utility belt out of his navy blue hoodie's pocket and swung it over his shoulder, pulling out a sharp, silver birdarang in the process. He didn't look at Tim when he gave a final nod to Wally and jumped in the fight beside Artemis, who had pulled a spare bow from the closet and nailed a Reach guard in the gut with the head of an exploding arrow.

Tim felt a strong grip around his waist pulling him from the room. He struggled against Wally's hold, intent on joining the fight. He hadn't realized he was yelling until his throat gave out.

A flash of red energy bounced off the walls, followed by a brief, tightened scream.

Tim recognized it immediately. It was Dick's scream.

The world melted into a blur. Wally may have been out of commission, but he was still a speedster at heart. It should have taken a mere moment for the retired hero to reach a safer place, but as Tim was dragged from the distant sounds of the battle, it seemed to last an eternity.

And suddenly, a rush of wind rustled through his hair, and he caught sight of the lemon yellow walls of the guest room. Tim wasn't sure what Wally was doing; he was too concerned in reasoning with the speedster to let him go.

A large clunk signaled a door opening. But Tim didn't remember noticing an exit in the house's guest room, besides the one they had just entered through. Were they going to climb through a window?

A clap of thunder. Gray concrete walls. A musty smell of old metal. Two single, white lights hanging from the ceiling. They were in a secret room.

Wally set Tim down against a wall. Coldness bit through his t-shirt and to his back.

"Wally, don't go," Tim stopped the speedster as he spun around to return to the war in his living room. "This is my fault. Dick's hurt, and I can help." He stepped closer to the redhead. "You have to believe me. I've trained against these guards. I know their weaknesses."

Wally's determined eyes were trying hard to shield his pain. He shook his head. "Sorry, Tim."

The former Boy Wonder blinked, and he was gone.

"No!" Tim yelled, running to the closing door. "You can't do this!" He pounded on the silver metal with broken fists, screaming through his bleeding throat.

'_Denying your destiny will always have consequences.' _Caralack's last words rang in his head.

"I can… I can help," he whispered as exhaustion took its toll. He slid to the floor, but his fists still remained lightly hitting the door for freedom.

'_And when these consequences regard those who you love, you will regret your actions.'_

He let out a deep breath, resting his head against the door.

'_And the Reach will be waiting for your return.'_

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**A/N: Alright, ready for some multiple choice trivia?**

_**Trivia Question #8: What city was **__**originally intended to serve as a backdrop for the **__**Nightwing**__** comics series? (Hint: It is sometimes considered the sister-city of Gotham)**_

**A) Bludhaven**

**B) Metropolis**

**C) Jump City**

**D) Gotham**

**Reviews are very welcome! :)  
**


	12. Breaking Rules

**A/N: And Chapter 12 is up! Enjoy this one, because I think Chapter 13 is half the word count. =(**

**But before that, I need to announce the winners of last week's trivia question! The answer was **_**A) Bludhaven.**_** Congratulations **_**Cahayafosc**__**, **__**Stronger123**__**, Guest, Lakeshine, **__**Ooo-shiny**__**, **__**Nightwing15**__**, Dente15, FantasizeDayDreams, **_**and **_**randomekitty101 **_**for guessing the correct answer!**

**After this, there's only going to be four chapters left. Hope you enjoy!**

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Chapter 12: Breaking Rules

_Palo Alto: Secret Room_

_June 24 2017 [1800 hours]_

It had happened in an instant. Men with white suits. Dead men with white suits. Blood splatters. A sharp order. A red blast. Dick's scream. Ripped from the scene, he was rendered helpless.

The metal walls must have been thick enough to retain his screams inside the small, hidden room, because no one had answered his call. He was slumped against the far wall, opposite of the door, slowly rubbing his bleeding knuckles and clearing his raw throat.

Hours passed in a blur. Hallucinations ranged from chirping blue birds to all four walls of the empty, square room crumbling into ash. However many times he swore freedom was laid before him, though, he closed his eyes and pushed reality away, afraid of being fooled by an illusion.

His mind raged with anxious thoughts and delusional theories. There were countless Reach agents, terrible odds for Dick, Wally, and Artemis. They were probably dead already. And it was his fault.

It didn't matter now, though. He didn't need a delusional mind to know he was going to die in this silver cage. So when a bloody, beaten Richard Grayson walked through the heavy metal door with the dusty, black duffel bag in his hand and an exhausted expression etched over his bruised face, he was sure his eyes were lying to him.

"Tim," he said, not bothering to raise his voice above a whisper, "We're going home."

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_Palo Alto: Living Room_

_June 24 2017 [1900 hours]_

He didn't ask questions. He didn't even look at Wally or Artemis as Dick said his goodbyes. Nor did he lay eyes on the broken windows, fallen shelves, or scattered shards of glass. He heard Wally's grunts as Artemis applied medical tape over his shattered knee. His focus set on the wrecked door, Tim hastily stepped over the bodies of the Reach agents and neared the front steps, where the psychiatric worker had taken his last breath.

_'How many more people have to die in my name?' _Tim wondered.

The cool air was sharp. The storm had settled, and a single ray of sunlight had made its way through the lightened clouds. He could have stood there forever, embraced by the sky and taken from the terrors of the world, but Dick was pulling him along the front walkway and past the next street. Once they had stepped into a dark alley, Dick advanced towards an old phone booth. After he had brushed the dirt off and opened its rusted metal door, he gestured for Tim to enter.

A bright light filled the tiny booth.

"_B20 - Robin"_

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_Bat Cave_

_June 24 2017 [1930 hours]_

"I don't understand," Tim told Dick once they had both entered the Bat Cave. "Why didn't we just use the zeta beams to get to the Hall and Wally's house?"

"We had reason to assume the Reach had tampered with the zeta technology. Doesn't matter now, though," Dick sighed, dropping the black duffle on the medical bed closest to him. "They're tracking you anyway."

It seemed obvious to question the fact that after being told he was being tracked, they would even dare to bring Tim close to the Bat Cave, but Tim seemed content in assuming that Nightwing had a plan.

"Was the mission a success?" Dick asked Barbara, whose red hair had fallen over the keys of the Bat Computer as she worked. She ran a hand through the scarlet locks and looked up to where Dick stood.

"Far from it," She turned in her swivel chair, "The Reach must have rerouted their designated courses for their transport ships. None of our calculated locations had any sign of alien tech, or even dump sites." She took a moment to inspect Dick. Her eyes rolled over stained bandages wrapped over his left arm, a deep cut above his eyebrow, and a black and blue bruise exposed by a tear in the knee of his jeans. Just by the way he walked, there was no doubt he had at least three injured ribs and a sprained ankle. "What happened to you?"

Dick didn't look at Tim. Tim didn't look at Dick. "The Reach ambushed us at Wally's house. We… took care of the matter."

Tim took a seat next to a medical bed, a good fifteen feet from the older heroes. He honestly wasn't sure how to react. First, Dick tells him that he'll never be Robin again. Then, he hands him off to the psychiatric facility without a warning. Tim witnessed the deaths of both workers, and was ordered to be separated from the Reach's assault. Dick fought the Reach for Tim's safety. Was it right to a hold a grudge against someone who risked their life for you? Or was this another overprotective act of Richard Grayson, like stripping Tim of half his life, and refusing to let him fight his own battles?

"How's Tim? Is he okay?" Barbara asked in a low whisper, hoping that Tim wouldn't hear.

"Probably not." Dick sighed, rubbing the back of his neck and sinking into another black swivel chair beside Barbara. "He's sort of… angry. I, um," He pressed his lips together, thinking about what to say, "wouldn't let him fight the Reach. I thought it was too dangerous, but he thinks he could have handled it."

Barbara looked at Dick like she was trying to read a book without her glasses. She could sense Dick was keeping something from her, but didn't press. Instead, she swung her chair around and fell back into the work she was doing prior to her fellow Bats' entries.

When Dick turned to look at Tim, the former Boy Wonder whipped his head around to face the wall.

Why didn't he tell Barbara about Tim's retirement as Robin? Was he still considering the matter? Did Tim still have a chance to keep his crime-fighting life?

"Your father should be back any day now, Tim," Dick said, "Once he's back, we'll… um, er—Tim, are you okay?"

He couldn't see. All he could feel was the pain tearing through his flesh and compressing his brain into nothing. He was tempted to reach for a sedative, but instead, his hands gripped his head as if his hair had burst into flames.

The whispers. They were back.

"What's wrong?" Dick asked, quickly nearing the younger teenager. He tried to lay a hand on his shoulder, but Tim retreated backwards. He forced his chest to rise and fall just to keep breathing. Dick swore Tim was having a heart attack by the way his face cringed and his hand gripped the arm of his chair so tight his knuckles turned white.

It was happening again. Just like in the guest room of Wally and Artemis' house. But this time, it was worse. The only explanation Tim could think of wasn't one he was willing to admit.

Caralack was angry. And if Caralack was angry, somebody was about to die.

He heard the smooth voice slide through his mind like a poisonous snake.

'_I see you have unwisely chosen the people of which you will pledge allegiance to.' _Tim grunted at every crack of Caralack's hollow laugh_, 'You have made a dire mistake. Prepare to face the consequences of your foolishness. Soon enough, you will achieve clarity.'_

"I'll n-never… he-lp you-u…" Tim breathed through his teeth, which were tightly clenched.

'_I see that what you need is simply some incentive.'_

"Help you do what, Tim? _What's _wrong?" Dick's voice pounded against Tim's shielded ears. "Barbara, come here. Tim's having some sort of psychological breakdown."

'_42.05' _Caralack whispered into Tim's brain.

And the psychological hand squeezing Tim's head inside his palms vanished into a cool breeze.

He felt a cold hand grip the back of his neck.

"You okay?"

Tim nodded his head on instinct. His sight was slowly returning. And with it, came the worried faces of both Dick and Barbara, who were kneeled on the ground next to his chair so they sat eye-level with him.

"Maybe we should have Leslie take another look a-"

"No," Tim interrupted quickly. Even though his head was still ringing, he seemed to be quickly recovering from the episode. "I'm fine, I just…" There wasn't any reason to keep the truth from Dick anymore. If someone was in danger, it may as well have been him.

Tim looked at Dick, afraid of what he might say. "The Reach have contacted me."

Nightwing didn't say anything for a moment. A quiet consciousness had fallen thick over the three Bat family members. His eyes turned cold, but not as if he was expressing hatred. It was his thinking face. Bruce's was exactly like his.

"For how long?"

Tim shrugged, "I don't know. They hadn't used the technique since the first week of my capture, but then, at Wally's house, the—"

"At Wally's house? Why didn't you tell me?"

Tim looked from Dick to Barbara. He wondered if the redhead would ever say anything, but she seemed too consumed in thought to offer a comment.

"Look, it doesn't matter now. They threatened me—told me that if I didn't cooperate with them, there would be a cost. And now… now, I'm left to pay it."

Dick shook his head, "What did they say?"

"42.05"

"Coordinates?" Barbara suggested.

"No," Dick stood and approached the Bat Computer. "Frequencies."

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_Bat Cave_

_June 24 2017 [2000 hours]_

Dick was right. The Reach had given specific frequency numbers. And after thirty minutes of attempting to maintain the radio signal long enough to hear the message, Caralack's voice finally swept through the room.

"I see that we are at somewhat of a stalemate. But I believe we will reach an agreement soon enough."

"What kind of agreement?" asked Tim, but he was hushed immediately.

"They can't hear you," Dick explained, "We don't have the proper transmitter for the frequency."

There was static for a minute, and for a moment, the three Bat Family members swore they would have to reset the entire device. But suddenly, the slick voice burst through the signal, smoother than ever. Tim feared the reason for Caralack's satisfaction.

"The exchange is simple. You will deliver Subject 1-02 to the third building on North Elm Street at 2300 hours tonight, where he will willingly surrender to his destiny, and I will spare the lives of the four hundred human workers nestled inside our main factory. Our people have safely exited the building, and the humans are locked inside with enough explosives to take out the entire block." A content sigh sent static over the frequency. "So which are you willing to sacrifice? The abdication of one boy, or the slaughtering of hundreds of innocent civilians?"

The signal went dead.

Perhaps Tim died with it. He swore his heart stopped beating. Or maybe it was beating so fast he couldn't hear it. As he slowly retreated backwards, his breathing slowed, and his eyes fell on the concerned faces of Batgirl and Nightwing.

"They're not going to take you, Tim. We're not going to let them."

"Dick," Barbara stopped Nightwing before he could continue, "Maybe we should talk about this."

Tim shook his head. "Of course they're going to take me." He looked up at Dick scornfully. "Because _I'm_ going to let them."

They wouldn't understand. They would never understand. He knew what was right, and although he hated even thinking about returning to the Reach, there wasn't any other choice. How could he dare value himself over four hundred civilians?

"Tim," Dick's eyes were stern as he gripped the boy's wrist to keep him from running, "that's not an option."

"Of course it is," Tim shook Dick's grip and stepped away, "It's the only option. One life, Dick, one life against four hundred. These people have families too. Hundreds of kids will be orphaned in my name. People will lose brothers, and sisters, and fathers, mothers, daughters, uncles, cousins, friends… Four hundred people will be slaughtered for the price of one life. I am not worth that."

"You're right." Dick walked past Tim and stopped at the table beside the medical bed. "But Bruce would kill me if I let you walk to your suicide." He took a long, deep breath as he poured water into a small drinking glass. "So you're not going to die tonight." He handed Tim the cup and gestured for him to drink. "That's an order."

The boy accepted the glass as he asked, "Then what are we going to do?" Tim took a sip of the water.

"The Reach will have to manage with a substitution."

Tim froze, looking up from the drink. His throat convulsed and his vision was suddenly blurred. And as he glared at Dick, he knew exactly what Nightwing was doing.

"You can't do this. They'll kill you!" Tim begged as the figure in front of him melted away. He felt his knees give out, and the floor welcome his back. Why wasn't Barbara helping him?

"I'm sorry, Tim," The former Boy Wonder could hear the grief in Dick's voice clearly, "but I have to protect you."

"NO!" Tim screamed as Dick walked away, and his vision faded into darkness. He felt a strong pull of unconsciousness wrench him away from the world. And as he drifted into sleep, he could hear the footsteps of his mentor and friend weaken into a silent hush.

And he realized that he would never see Dick again.

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_3 North Elm Street, Gotham_

_June 24 2017 [2300 hours]_

"Where is the Subject?"

The air was cool, and the night was so quiet he could hear the distant coos of the Gotham night birds. Dick stood confidently inside the wide alley, eyes latched to Caralack's cruel expression.

Guards formed a circle around Nightwing. They pointed their weapons at his heart, ready for an order to kill. Dick unlatched his black utility belt and dropped it on the cement.

"I wasn't pleased with the terms of our agreement," he answered, smirking. Barbara had always told him that he had a tendency to hide his true emotions under a mask of witty one-liners and clever puns. Dick's eyes narrowed. He was losing far more than Tim by sacrificing himself. He was losing everyone. "I was hoping I would be sufficient."

An alien beside Caralack tightened his grip on his weapon.

"Let's kill him," said Larc, "then Subject 1-02 will really come running."

Caralack waved his hand to silence him. "That is unnecessary. He will suffice."

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_Bat Cave_

_June 25 2017 [0800 hours]_

"Why are you letting him do this, Barbara?" Tim asked the redhead just minutes after he had woken from a dose of the twelve hour sedative. He shook his hands, which were both handcuffed to the railing of a medical bed. "You let him walk to his death, you know that?"

Barbara turned in the black swivel chair Leslie had occupied during her session with Tim. "There was nothing I could have done." Her eyes were red and glossy from the tears staining her cheeks. "You know Dick when he makes up his mind," she offered a weak laugh, "There's no stopping him."

"I can't believe that." Tim didn't understand why Barbara wasn't strategizing a plan for Dick's rescue. She couldn't possibly believe Tim's life was more valuable than Dick's. "I won't be able to live knowing that Dick died because I couldn't commit one selfless act. Now, if we contact the Team and ambush the Reach at their location, we could outnu—"

"It's too late, Tim. His tracker was disconnected hours ago." Barbara stood from her chair.

"Don't go, Barbara. We can still do this—we can still save him!" Tim's cries were as useless as goodbyes, as he watched the infamous Batgirl stalk out of the Bat cave, and the former Robin knew she was about to cry.

"All Bruce wanted was to keep you alive."

The comment hit Tim hard. He hadn't seen Bruce for months. He even wondered if the Batman would ever return to Gotham City. He had analyzed the situation a thousand times over, and every single time he did the math, the odds were not in Bruce's favor. He would have wished him back without hesitation anytime before the Reach captured him. But now, all he could think about was if Bruce would still accept him, knowing of all the murders he had on his back.

It was useless wondering, now, though. Dick had made it clear that Tim would never put on the suit again, and after his death, he may never want to.

He rested his head against the thin mattress of the bed as his eyes wandered to the floor. He swore for a moment that he had spotted a spare batarang abandoned on the cold ground of the Bat Cave. And when he looked back at it, he swore it was almost an arm's length away.

If only he could reach it…

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_Unidentified Location_

_June 25 2017 [1100 hours]_

Twelve hours with the Reach and Dick was already wondering how Tim lasted six weeks with them. He had honestly expected to be murdered on the spot. Despite his expectations, the Reach had another plan in mind.

"Your name is Subject 1-03." Caralack paced in front of Dick's chair, which was positioned in the center of a large, empty factory warehouse storage facility. There was barely any natural light. Even if wood planks weren't nailed over the small windows, the only source of illumination would have been the white lamp precariously dangling from the ceiling.

Dick scoffed at the alien. He was slumped on a small, metal chair with his hands cuffed behind him. He was almost too tired to think, but he focused on the warm drop of blood running down his face to keep him from falling unconscious. Last time he had closed his eyes for more than a second, he was rewarded with an intense dose of electrical shocks. And he wasn't about to make the same mistake twice.

"I don't think so."

His soft grunt died in the air as the Reach guard next to him threw out his fist, and Dick's head fell to the side when it collided with his face. Breathing quickly but softly, he slowly lifted his head to face Caralack. It hurt to hold the smirk, but Dick swore it was the only thing keeping him sane. He couldn't let the Reach infect him, like Tim. The only thing worse than death was to be forced into joining the other side.

"Really, Subject 1-03?" Caralack mocked, "Because _I_ think so. But perhaps we are in need of a second opinion, hm?"

Dick spit blood on the cement flooring of the factory building. "There's no one on Earth that could make me work for _you_."

Caralack pressed his mouth into a thin line, thoughtfully. He juggled his head from side to side as he walked in a complete circle around Dick, following the line of Reach guards that surrounded them both. Then he turned to Larc.

"Bring out the other."

Nightwing shook the metal restraints his wrists were locked in, cringing from the injuries he had gained in the battle at Wally's house. They wouldn't budge. He could have taken out half the guards with the chair strapped to his back, but any of the other dozen would have more than a fair chance to take aim with their blazers.

As the guards separated to make way for the mysterious person to enter, Dick stopped struggling. The small figure was thrown on the ground, tied with restraints, but he didn't thrash for freedom. Instead, he remained deadly still, forehead pressed against the cement as his dark hair messily fell over his ears and concealed all but a glimpse of his bright blue eyes.

Dick's blood-stained mouth dropped its smirk for a moment to form a deep, stern frown.

"Subject 1-02," greeted Caralack, smiling, "Thank you for coming."

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**A/N: I just saw _Man of Steel_, so this week's trivia question is Superman themed!**

_**Trivia Question #9: What year did the revised Superman first appear in Action Comics #1?**_

**A) 1936**

**B) 1938**

**C) 1940**

**D) 1942**

**Review! =D**


	13. Breaking Hearts

**A/N: SHORT CHAPTER WARNING! And I'm sorry, but I was behind schedule, so I had to cut the last scene out of this chapter and add it to the next, which is not guaranteed to update next Saturday because I'm going on a road trip and it may spill over to the weekend. Plus, which just came to me now, I would have no time to write the chapter itself. But I'm not sure yet, just a warning.**

**The answer to last week's trivia question was 1938! Those who answered correctly included _Lakeshine, Stronger123, randomkitty101, Guest, ReNewit, Ques_t, and _shejams_!**

**And I didn't look over this chapter super well... so typos will most inevitably follow. (Sorry!)**

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Chapter 13: Breaking Hearts

_Unidentified Location_

_June 25 2017 [1100 hours]_

"Won't you take a seat?"

A metal stool was placed inside the circle, positioned directly opposite and four yards from Dick. Tim didn't struggle as two guards lifted him from the ground and onto the chair. From what Dick could see, he hadn't been harmed. But Tim seemed to be looking everywhere except him.

Dick didn't dare speak. He didn't move. He didn't scowl. For all the Reach knew, he had no idea who this boy was. But as his eyes flickered over to the side to inspect him, Tim could feel his disapproval. Dick knew he had come there willingly.

"Now that we're all settled," Caralack continued as he paced between the two heroes. "We may begin," Caralack paused, "As you know, we have expressed interest in having a 'superhero', as the humans call it, embody the platform for societal revolutionary indoctrination, if you will. We have chosen the two of you to partake in this venture, though you must realize we have certain qualifications that need to be tested. This, Subject 1-03, is a test of loyalty."

When Caralack nodded, the guard standing to the right of Dick unlatched his restraints and stepped back into the formed circle. He wasn't standing for long however, as Nightwing, not wasting a second dwelling on the foolish strategy, knocked the guard to the floor and turned in time to catch a fist and throw his own. Despite his injuries, Dick fought the Reach guards with ease, clearing the path to find Caralack.

He knew he was making a mistake the second he laid eyes on the alien. Frozen in thought, two guards sneaked behind him and twisted his already-injured arm, slipping the metal cuffs on his wrists as they dragged him back into his chair.

Once he had recovered from the pain of his left arm, he returned his gaze to the Reach alien he was quickly beginning to loath as much as Tim did. "What was the point of that?"

"Subject 1-03, you must learn to listen," Carlack answered, "I explained the reason. It was a test of your loyalty. And you failed. Though I believe you will do much, much better on your next try."

"Why's that?" Dick asked.

He turned to the guard standing directly next to Tim. "I believe Subject 1-03 attacked my men with seven well-aimed hits."

One obedient nod. Seven well-aimed hits to the face. But it wasn't Dick whose blood splattered over the cold flooring of the factory warehouse.

The first punch was unexpected. Tim shook his head, trying to shake off the stars blurring his vision. He swore he heard Dick growl.

Tim ducked for the second, and the fist would have missed him if another three Reach guards hadn't immediately pinned his shoulders to the back of the metal chair. Dick told Caralack to stop. Caralack told Dick that he had to learn a lesson.

The third punch hit Tim hard. Both his face and the guard's fist were already smeared in blood.

By the fourth, Dick couldn't watch. He turned away from the beaten boy, realizing that Caralack was intent on finishing the job. Tim was taking the hits like a soldier, but even the softest grunt or subtlest hint of pain in Tim's eyes was breaking Dick's heart. He had given his life to save Tim, and now Dick was watching him die.

The last punch knocked Tim out of his seat. The guards let him and his chair hit the cement, hard. Once he was sitting upright again, a steady stream of blood appeared on the side of his head that had hit the floor. He clenched his teeth to avoid thinking about the jolting pain stirring through his head, but he knew if he continued to lose blood, he would fall unconscious before he could reason with Caralack.

"Caralack," Tim grumbled through heavy breaths, "You prom-m-ised me… you woul-ld let him g-go."

The alien cocked his head at the boy, curiously. "I _did_, in fact, tell you that, Subject 1-02. But I had hoped that you would see the extent the Reach is willing to go for the benefit of mankind. That matter is insignificant now. We must look to the future." He turned back to Nightwing, "Now, shall we attempt try-two of the loyalty test?"

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_Bat Cave_

_June 25 2017 [1100 hours]_

She was confused. Terribly distraught and exceptionally cold. She should have been wearing a sweater with the low temperatures of the Cave, but her mind was frazzled and too centered on Dick's fate to move from her position on the black chair nestled in front of a wall of security footage screens. Her delicate hands formed a mask over her tired eyes, which must have been as vibrantly red as her scarlet hair for all the crying she had been doing.

The beeping was useless. It had been going off for hours, but Barbara hadn't noticed, or perhaps she hadn't bothered to check the source. Either way, when she finally looked away from the metal pipes running along the sides of the wall and set her sight upon a single video screen projecting the medical quarters of the Bat Cave, she was taken aback to notice a loose pair of handcuffs besides a bed, and the absence of Tim beside it.

She stood from her chair so fast her head spun. But it still took her a moment to realize the last piece of the puzzle—a small square piece of paper. A note from Tim.

When Barbara changed the perspective of the camera and zoomed in close enough to read the black text scrawled over the yellow sheet, she swore she was clinging on to her last strand of composure. But as all Bats do, she persevered, swinging her hand across the control board to reach a small red button and spoke into the monitor like it was about to save her life. Or perhaps, _someone's_ life.

"Team, we have a problem."

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_Unidentified Location_

_June 25 2017 [1200 hours]_

The tension in the air was so thick you could slice it in half with a batarang.

Caralack stood over Nightwing like a hawk as the guards, once again, cut the restraints binding his hands to the chair. Eyes as hard as stone, he remained in the same position, struggling to hold himself back from giving in and throwing a punch at the green and blue alien hovering over his lap.

There was a slight possibility that Dick could have taken out the dozen guards surrounding him and Tim. But was he willing to risk Tim's life on the possibility that the Reach hadn't positioned reinforcements directly outside the walls of the factory warehouse? If he were aware of the conditions of the test before the first trial, he could have cut Tim free and escaped through the back exit. But by the third try of the loyalty test, Dick was just thankful Tim was still breathing.

The fourteen-year-old looked like a body straight out of a morgue. His head drooped to the side in exhaustion as a stream of blood ran down his neck and stained the shoulder of his shirt. He slouched in the chair, bending to one side to avoid straining an injured arm. Even through the dim lighting of the room, it was clear Tim was far too pale to be conscious. If it wasn't for the soft grunts he gave off at the occasional punch, Dick would have guessed Tim had already fallen unconscious an hour ago. He was deadly silent, and he hadn't looked at Nightwing since the first moment he was dragged into the musty room.

"I see that you have finally come to the conclusion that you must place your allegiance in the Reach." Caralack said, motioning for the guards to replace the metal cuffs on Dick's wrists. He nodded to another alien, who, after acknowledging the nod, wrapped his hands around Tim's neck, threateningly. "So what is your name?"

Dick stiffened. "Just stop, okay? _Stop_."

Caralack continued to pace between the two captives. "I don't recall you answering the question." The guard tightened his grip on Tim's neck. The former Robin struggled, but he was already weakened and the guard's grip was too strong.

"Look—look," Dick reasoned with Caralack, "I'll do anything you want," Dick gave his worst bat-glare he could possible muster with the limited energy he was running on, "just don't hurt the boy."

Caralack stopped pacing, and turned to Nightwing. He seemed to think a moment before speaking. "I doubt I'll be the one hurting your little friend here, Subject 1-03." He stepped closer to Dick, "See, there's one thing I may have failed to tell you," Caralack smiled with the cruel grin Tim had despised ever since the first day of his capture. "Due to lack of resources, our ship cannot afford to uphold multiple subjects to the quality we intend to attain. And since both qualified individuals are simply too hard to choose between, we've bestowed the decision to you." He threw a black weapon onto the ground in between the heroes. "Now, I do realize that earthly artillery may seem out of place in this circumstance, but when we dump your body on the street, we needed a third party to net the blame."

The room cleared, but Dick was too focused on the small gun that lay on the cement flooring to even notice the guards unlatching his restraints. Once Nightwing finally looked up, he noticed that they had done the same with Tim's.

It was one of those moments you hope would never happen. And yet, hope seemed so small and pathetic compared to the threats at hand. Dick had hoped the gun would dissolve into nothing, melt into the ground like a hallucination, and have never existed. He had hoped Tim was too inert to have the ability to reach for the weapon, or even the capability to fully comprehend Caralack's words. But as a wavering pair of pale hands clutched the gun and removed it from Dick's view, he realized that hope was irrelevant.

It was him or Tim. Live under the Reach and watch Tim die, or embrace the mercy of a bullet and let another Robin fall under the grasp of the other side. Either way, he was watching Tim toy with the gun in his fingers, and then press the barrel under his chin.

Before Dick could react, Tim began to talk in a weak, rough voice—a voice too melancholy, a voice that had to endure too many tragedies to belong to a fourteen year old.

"This is probably… probably sel-selfish," He was talking blearily, slurring his words like he couldn't completely think straight. He tried to smile, but all that came through were some blood smeared teeth. "But I b-believe… you can-n beat the Reach, persev-vere and get-t through th-this, make it out-t… and when y-you do, you'll sa-save lives." When Tim looked at Dick, Nightwing realized it wasn't just his voice that seemed centuries older than it should have been. His eyes, too, exposed the hardships he had lived through and the years-worth of maturity he had been forced to develop in the matter of weeks. "You have to u-understand, Dick. When I'm gone… when you get-t out of h-here, you can't think about m-my death like it's your penance. You have to keep fight-ting, for the both of-f us."

And suddenly Dick forgot about the pain he was in, and the dozens of guards that stood right outside the door. He was running on adrenaline, and the fear that another kid could lose his life because Dick wasn't fast enough to save it.

"No," he told the younger boy, standing above him with his hand wrapped around the wrist holding the gun. "Tim… what makes you think that I deserve to live more than you?"

"You're the hero."

Dick's mind raged with thoughts. He had retired Tim to protect him. And now everything he had done for Tim's safety was about to be the cause of his death.

A crash echoed through the room.

Maybe Caralack had gotten impatient. Maybe Tim had pulled the trigger. Maybe the floor had opened up and swallowed him whole.

But in any of the circumstances, a flash of red and white wouldn't have swept through the room. Intense beads of sunlight wouldn't have flooded the room through a wall that had collapsed into debris. And a quick redhead would have never wrapped her arms around Dick, pulling him and Tim into a tight embrace.

And perhaps he was losing his mind, but this hallucination was far better than facing reality.

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**A/N: I'm not much for happy endings, but Tim had to be alive for the climax of the story… which is still to come ;) **

_**Trivia Question #10: Okay, so I'm running out of trivia questions. But this is #10, it's special, so... Who is your favorite DC character? **_

**Review! =D**


	14. Breaking Point

**A/N: Woah, I never thought I would make it to chapter 14, but here I am writing this AN, with only 2 more chapters to go! **

**So obviously there's no correct answer to last week's trivia question, but I would just like to point out that almost everyone, if not everyone, that responded had a Bat Family member in their pool of favorite characters. I guess that makes sense, when you think about the main characters of this story. I always loved the Bat Family, especially Tim Drake. And Dick Grayson as Nightwing. And Red Hood. Yes, definitely Jason. And also, the speedster family (specifically Barry as Flash and Wally as Kid Flash). **

**Just a note: At this point in the DC timeline, Tim's mother has died, and he is living with his father (his stepmother doesn't exist… hehe). I tried to keep the ending of this chapter as true to the comics as I could while still maintaining my story line.**

**I hope you enjoy!**

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Chapter 14: Breaking Point

_Unidentified Location_

_June 25 2017 [1300 hours]_

The fight was quick and simple. It was three dozen guards and a psychotic alien against every super powered member of the Team. After the Reach guards were taken down, most of the Team members returned to another mission in Central City, and the Bat Family remained in the empty parking lot of the abandoned factory.

"We need to call an ambulance," Tim heard Dick say as he walked the younger teenager over to an area of shade.

Barbara looked at Dick like he had two heads. "Are you crazy? If _Nightwing_ and _Batgirl_ bring a kid that fits the exact profile of _Robin_ to the hospital, Tim's identity may as well be written over the Wayne Tower. We'll bring him back to the Bat Cave and trea—"

"There's no time. He has a severe head injury and he's losing too much blood. For all we know, his brain could be damaged, and we don't have the proper equipment at the Cave." Dick tore a piece off Tim's shirt and pressed the wad of fabric against the boy's wound. Tim cringed, but understood that Dick was applying pressure to suppress the bleeding.

Dick looked up at Barbra, earnestly, "Babs, _please._ Tim's life is on the line."

She knew she was going to regret it, and yet her communicator whipped out before she could blink.

"Tim," Dick whispered to the boy, who had closed his eyes, "C'mon bud, you have to stay awake. When the ambulance comes, the workers are going to tell you that you have a concussion. They're going to ask you remain conscious, no matter how tired you feel."

Tim didn't remember anything harder than resisting the pull of unconscious and opening his eyes in that very moment. He wouldn't last long; he had lost too much blood.

Barbara returned and squatted beside Tim. "The ambulance should be here any minute," she informed them.

Tim must have hit his head hard against the floor in that factory, because nothing had ever damaged his vision as much as that hit. Colors and shapes whirled around the melted sky. Warped images pulled a lingering darkness over the field of colors. He could hear the distant sound of Dick and Barbara's voice, calling his name and asking him questions, but by the time the words reached his ears, they were slurred and shrill.

He didn't even realize he had closed his eyes and slipped into unconscious until he felt a sudden whirl of wind and a blaring siren of an ambulance faded into a silent hush.

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_Gotham Medical_

_June 27 2017 [0900 hours]_

He had never liked hospitals. They were too quiet, like the walls had something to hide. And apparently the nurses were actually determined undercover agents, because they pounded you with questions every time they walked by, as if you knew anything about the undisclosed secrets. The workers must have been desperate, too; they were making a point to leave every sharp needle in the entire universe out in the open. But Tim wasn't as nervous about receiving a shot as the hollow feeling he got when walking through the endless hallways. Every creek in the floor, which was suspiciously repetitive, forced a chill through his spine. And, even worse, they were inherently white. So white, in fact, that your eyes mistake everything for marshmallows and even when you leave, you can still see the piles bleached sheets when you blink. Not to mention the fact that it reminded him far too much of a certain psych ward he was one close-call away from being locked inside.

So when the doors finally opened to a busy parking lot glowering under a thousand warm rays of sunlight, anyone would have been safe to say that _relieved_ was an under-exaggeration. Tim was so happy he could have grabbed a grapple hook and swung across the Empire State Building. He probably would have, too, but Barbara was standing cautiously beside him and his head was still throbbing from a concussion (though he would never admit it to her).

They walked along the parking lot in silence. Tim knew he wouldn't feel like himself until he left the entire realm of the hospital, and Barbara didn't want him to strain his brain after such a hard fall. It was complicated enough to explain to an entire hospital staff that Tim was only a victim that the Reach used to force Dick into cooperation, and the boy had _no_ relation to the superheroes who dropped him off in an ambulance. They convinced them that Barbara Gordon, after hearing about the fiasco, offered to drive the boy to his house.

You would think two members of the Bat Family wouldn't have to think twice to find their car in a parking lot, but as Barbara's phone rang and she raced to answer it, both heroes were still in search of Barbara's black Accord.

Tim instantly knew it was Dick who had called. Maybe it was Tim giving in to his detective nature and overanalyzing a situation, or maybe Barbara had always felt the need to soften her voice and fix her hair before answering a phone call. (Though as incredibly intelligent as she was, it seemed she still didn't realize that the voice on the other end lacked the ability to travel through wireless and satellite connections to actually _see_ her.)

After she had finished the conversation, which lasted less than a minute, she threw the phone in her bag and determinedly examined the spectrum of the parking lot. When she found what she was looking for, she started making a beeline towards it, and Tim had to jog to keep up with her speed-walking.

"It's your dad," she told the fourteen-year-old, "He's home."

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_Gotham_

_June 27 2017 [0930 hours]_

The car ride to his house felt like an eternity. He had been aching to see his father for weeks, and yet a pertinent feeling of foreboding and worry was deadly apparent in his beating heart. His mind rolled over Barbara's words like a mathematical equation.

She should have sounded cheerful—wasn't it great that Tim would finally be reunited with his father after an eight week separation? But it seemed that her voice was anything but jolly. Her tone was low, and her eyes were soft as she informed Tim of the matter and sprinted towards her car, momentarily forgetting his semi-healed head injury.

Tim shook his head. It wasn't like he and his father had a rough relationship. His dad _had_ discovered Tim's secret life of crime fighting only a week prior to Tim's own disappearance, but Tim secretly felt relieved that he didn't have to fabricate elusive excuses for every mission or patrol he partook in. His father, however, disapproved of Tim's dangerous extracurricular. His father had prepared to finally tell the Bat Family that Tim would no longer fulfill the role of Robin mere days before Tim was captured.

Tim didn't truly understand Barbara's worrisome tone of voice until the redhead pulled into the driveway of Tim's small sky blue house.

His heart stopped the second he saw the police cars. His eyes rolled over news vans from every station in New England parked along the street. Reporters, cops, and emergency paramedics were crowded on his front lawn as onlookers were herded onto the sidewalk by stern officials.

Tim opened the car door and jumped out before it even came to a stop. He heard Barbara call his name, but he was too focused on pushing his way through the crowd of curious reporters to turn and answer her.

His anxiety must have broken through to the surface, because a dark haired reporter with glossy, red lips shoved a plush microphone near his mouth as soon as he stepped on the yard.

"Are you Timothy Drake, son of Jack Drake?" she asked.

He pushed past her, not bothering to answer, but the other reporters seemed to catch on and swarmed around Tim like a pack of hyenas hunting down their prey.

"Were you aware of your father's sudden business trip?" a cheeky blonde with furrowed eyebrows asked.

"When was the last time you saw your father?" a male ginger reporter that could have been Wally's twin inquired.

"Do you know anyone that would want to harm your father?" he heard a purple-eyed brunette pose beside him.

Tim's confused gaze rolled over the reporters, trying to grasp the crime's details, but he didn't think he could handle it if something had happened to his father.

'_It was probably just a simple break in,' _Tim told himself, _'at worst, he was tied up and stuffed into the closet.'_

Flashing white lights distorted his vision as a sharp, pounding ache wrapped around his injured head. He swore he would have passed out if not for the adrenaline pumping through his body. More reporters piled in front of the path to his house.

"How can you explain your six week disappearance?"

"Is it true that you and your father have had a rocky relationship over the past few months?"

"Would Captain Boomerang have any personal reason for harming your father?"

'_Captain Boomerang?'_ Tim wondered anxiously, but he was losing his patience. Closing his eyes, he charged through the crowd. A wave of nausea rushed over him, and he had to catch himself to avoid hitting something tall and hard. It was blue and bulky, and one of its warning arms pushed him backwards.

"Move along, kid" the police officer said, "only officials are allowed on site."

"It's okay," a female voice said from behind Tim, and he knew Barbara had caught up, "he's Timothy Drake. This is his house."

The policeman must have said something like "I'm sorry" or "It may be best for the paramedics to clear out before you enter," but Tim didn't waste a second shoving the man aside and bursting through the open door of his house.

The first thing he saw was yellow crime-scene tape. It ran along the walls like streamers at a child's birthday party, strapped across shattered windowed and accompanying small cardboard stands numbering supposed evidence of the break in. Besides a few areas of broken glass, a muddy footprint, and the dozen working officials spread sporadically around, nothing had changed since he had last left his auburn-carpeted and rustic-furnished living room.

Somehow he knew exactly where to go. And as fast he was running through his house, part of him was begging to turn around and pretend like nothing had happened. But his legs kept moving beneath him, no matter how much fear piled inside of him.

"Tim."

By the time he had stopped at the sound of his name, he was already at the entrance to his father's bedroom. His head was screaming in so much pain that all he could see was a dark-haired figure. When his vision began to clear, he noticed that Dick's hair was ruffled, and his sleeves were rolled up like he was about to fix a faucet. Perhaps when the burglar came in, he broke Tim's sink.

Tim tried not to look directly at the blood on Dick's arms.

The older hero didn't say anything, but his eyes were telling everything he could have ever been thinking. And although Tim knew fairly well that Dick was warning him not to pass through the brown door in front of him, Tim ignored him and took a daring step towards the doorknob.

'_It was just a robbery,' _Tim reminded himself, though he was clearly denying the fact that he had subconsciously analyzed every room he passed through and noticed that everything, even the sterling silver vase and vintage coin jar that would have surely been jackpots for any average thug, was still present. _'Only a measly break in.'_

Tim felt a firm grip pull his arm back. The blood on Dick's hands was still warm.

"Is he… is he," Tim stuttered, afraid to ask the question. He hadn't realized how much breath he had lost, and how good it felt to relax for a moment to fill his lungs with fresh oxygen.

But he couldn't let himself relax. Not as he stood there, reading Dick's solemn face and feeling a deadly dread fill his stomach with cement.

Dick didn't answer the unfinished question. Instead, he whispered two words so soft Tim swore he didn't hear them, and released his bloody grip on Tim's elbow.

The words were still ringing in his ears as Tim tore through the entrance and made his way into his father's bedroom.

"Brace yourself."

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_Gotham_

_June 27 2017 [0945 hours]_

He had always wondered what it felt like to die. Watching the world slip away as you let out your last breath. Convincing your hysterical family that it would be okay, even though you knew it wouldn't. Feeling the cold grip of sleep pull you from everything you've ever known. What would you say if you only had thirty seconds to live?

Because as Tim burst through his father's bedroom door and settled his eyes on a body sprawled over the tan shag carpet, he suddenly realized that whatever dying felt like, it must have been better than the injustice shredding his heart to pieces at that very moment.

He didn't realize he was moving until he felt his feet shift beneath him. He ran towards his father, shoving paramedics aside, and crumpled next to the man who had raised him.

His dad's bright blue eyes were wide open. They looked strange against his pale skin. His mouth was slack, and gray streaks sprouted from his black, straggly hair, but Tim looked at his father's face like he was still young, when his mother was still alive, when she and Tim would laugh at his father's jokes no matter how corny they were, when life was simple and joyful, and he and his parents would take him to the bookstore for his birthday and let him buy all the books he could hold.

Memories washed over him like raindrops, but it wasn't enough to steal him from reality, no matter how much he wished it all away. Tim gripped his father's cold hand.

There was so much blood. Far more than any one person could ever produce. Tim's hands were already drenched in it. His red, trembling fingers fumbled over the stained yellow weapon impaled in his father's chest.

A boomerang.

Tim heard his breathing quicken. His heart rate accelerated. The world around him blurred into a haze. Sound became irrelevant.

His father couldn't be dead. It just wasn't possible.

'_He's just hurt,' _Tim reasoned with himself, _'all he needs is some help.'_

He gripped the yellow boomerang. It was sharper than he had intended, and it cut through his fingers, but he had to keep pulling. He had to save his father.

Warm blood washed over his hands, and he didn't know if it was his or his father's. He could hear himself screaming. The boomerang was heavy, and most of his dad's blood was already dried to it, acting like glue. He kept thinking that if he pulled harder, the weapon would finally budge and his father would be okay.

"Get him off that body," a harsh paramedic yelled.

Another pair of hands wrapped around Tim's wrists. Tim first thought they were helping him remove the boomerang, but then they began tearing Tim's hands off of the weapon and pulling him away from his father's body.

"Calm down, Tim," he heard Dick say firmly, "You're in shock. You can't help him now."

But Tim didn't believe him. He _could_ help him. He could save his father.

He thrashed against Dick's hold, desperately pulling at the glimmering booming. It sliced his flesh like butter, and if he kept at it any longer, his palms would surely be split in half, but all Tim could feel was the overwhelming shock grip his heart and the tremendous need to tear the weapon from his father's chest.

Dick was unyielding. He grabbed at Tim's hands and tried to reason with the hysterical boy. "He's gone, Tim. He's dead."

"NO!" Tim screamed, drowned in the heart of denial and determination, but Dick was much stronger. The older hero wrenched him away and pulled him to a standing position.

Tim seemed to come to his senses, because he didn't try to crawl his way back. He watched his injured hands bleed out and let his breathing slow.

"He can't be dead," Tim whispered, but no one seemed to hear. Most of the paramedics had returned to tending the corpse.

"I think Tim needs some time alone," Barbara suggested, and Dick released his grip on the young Boy Wonder.

"I'm sorry," he whispered to Tim, and the fourteen year old realized that Dick knew exactly how he felt. He watched as both heroes left his peripheral vision, and without Dick's support, his knees buckled, and he dropped to the floor.

When Dick and Barbara had reached the corner of the room where they were sure Tim couldn't hear them, they laid their eyes over the room. From where they stood, they could see Captain Boomerang's body on the opposite side of the area as Tim's father. A puddle of blood formed around his corpse.

"How could this have happened?" Barbara asked Dick.

Nightwing sighed, though it was probably more for regaining his natural breathing pattern after the struggle with Tim. "It shouldn't have." He wiped his bloody hands on his dark jeans, thoughtfully, like the scene was playing over in his head. "Captain Boomerang breaks in; he doesn't know Jack's in the house, so when they see each other, both are startled; As Boomerang grabs his weapon, Jack grabs for his gun and shoots, but he's already thrown a boomerang. Both hit. Both fall. Both dead."

Barbara shook her head. "But why would Captain Boomerang hike all the way up to Gotham City just to rob a one-story two-bedroom house?"

"Unless," Dick furrowed his eyebrows in thought. It seemed that when the Bats talked through situations, answers became so much clearer. "He was hired to kill Jack Drake."

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_Gotham_

_June 27 2017 [1000 hours]_

Tim hadn't felt as much pain in his chest since he lost his mother. He had hoped since that day that he would never have to experience it again.

Apparently he was wrong.

He tried not to look at his father. The paramedics had cleared the room, but Tim's heart felt so fragile it could explode just by the sight of his hollow eyes. Barbara and Dick had stationed themselves on the far corner of the room. And instead of staring at his shredded hands, he let his sight drift to Captain Boomerang's body.

Two shots to the neck. His father always had perfect aim.

Tim cringed. A shock of pain rippled through his body, like another heartstring had been clipped. He almost wished Captain Boomerang was still alive. Then Tim could have strangled him himself and watched him die. Maybe then, he could have asked Boomerang if he knew who he was killing when he threw the yellow weapon. He could have asked him if he knew what a great man Tim's father was, and who Boomerang would be affecting when he murdered him.

He could feel himself tense up, and not wanting to lose control twice in one hour, he forced himself to look past the pathetic body of a murderer. As he turned, a glimmer of light sparked in his vision. When he looked back, he noticed a silver object clutched in his father's right hand.

He made his way back to his father's body as best he could without further injuring his bleeding hands. He kneeled beside him, still wrapped in doubt that he would never speak to his father again, or take a lame picture in a party store's photo booth, or go to any ice cream parlor in Gotham and order the largest ice cream cones available, then take them home and fill it with cheap frozen yogurt because he's convinced gourmet ice cream is made with old seaweed.

"That's what you get for reading gossip magazines at the dentist's office," Tim whispered to the body, lost in a daze. When he remembered his initial goal, he reached over the protruding boomerang and peeled his father's fingers off of the polished, gleaming pistol.

Holding it gave him a strange feeling. He felt a surge of energy, washing away his distress and replacing it with a strong sensation of objective. It grappled inside of him, and suddenly he swore he felt ten thousand eyes staring at him.

And whispers so quiet they melted into the silence the second he heard them.

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_Gotham_

_June 27 2017 [1000 hours]_

"You think the Reach hired Captain Boomerang to murder Tim's father?" Barbara asked, waving her hands in the air. She was running on her last dose of caffeine, but the past weeks had been so crazy, she wondered when she would finally get a moment to rest.

Dick nodded, but answered instead with his own question. "How did you find me and Tim in that warehouse?"

Barbara shrugged, "Tim wore a tracker. Once I contacted the Team, we traced it back to the rundown factory."

"That doesn't make sense. They removed my tracker before going anywhere near that factory. They would have followed the exact same protocol with Tim."

"Well," Barbara sighed, "if there's one thing we do know, it's that the Reach isn't stupid."

"So the real question here, then, is why the Reach would want us to be found mere hours after our capture."

Barbara looked like a light bulb had lit up her brain. She opened her mouth like she was about to speak, but she never got the chance to, because at that very moment, a subtle glimmer caught both the heroes' eyes, and their conversation died instantly.

Tim was standing over his father's dead body. At first glance, you would've thought he'd gone mad. He was slightly hunched, breathing heavily, with wild blue eyes that seemed to be looking at everything in the room, but seeing nothing. But when Dick and Barbara looked again, they realized they were wrong. Tim's eyes weren't wild; they were incredibly calm, widened only to maximize his field of vision. He was breathing heavily to maintain supercharged levels of oxygen. And Tim was slouched because his foot was nudged under his dad's corpse, so that if anyone threatened to attack, he could flip the body over and use it as a shield.

No, Tim hadn't lost his mind. He had gained something—some sort of distorted and sick initiative that had been brushed under a rug for too long.

But it wasn't Tim's mechanical expression or even his teetering concussion that sent Nightwing and Batgirl's heart rate through the roof.

It was the gun in his bleeding hands, plentifully loaded and pointed directly at their hearts.

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**A/N: I don't know if I made this clear: Tim's father was killed by Captain Boomerang, and Boomerang was killed by Tim's father. They killed each other at the same time, kind of. I don't know. Ask the writers of Identity Crisis. Next update should be next week, but I've started writing the next chapter, and it's not going so well. Very weird scene to depict into words.**

_**Trivia Question #11: Which Batgirl was given her very own Batcave from Batman?**_

_**A) Bette Kane**_

_**B) Barbara Gordon**_

_**C) Helena Bertinelli**_

_**D) Cassandra Cain**_

**Tim's about to shoot Babs and Dick? Tell me what you think!**


	15. Breaking Even

**A/N: This chapter is really fast paced, which is probably the main factor to why it's so short… ahh, couldn't think of anymore to write! Next chapter's the epilogue… so bittersweet, this fic's almost over!**

**So, who was the only Batgirl to be given her own Batcave by Batman? The answer to last week's trivia question is D) Cassandra ****Cain**_**. **__**FantasizeDayDreams, randomkitty101, Lakeshine, Ooo-shiny,**_** and **_**shejams**_** guessed correctly! **

**And Chapter 15 begins… (I'm sorry for any typos. I didn't have much time to look this chapter over.)**

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Chapter 15: Breaking Even

_Gotham: Household of Jack Drake_

_June 27 2017 [1030]_

It wasn't a circumstance that you would see every day.

A fourteen-year-old boy, hovered over his dead father's body, holding the alter-egos of the infamous Batgirl and Nightwing at gunpoint. But of course, the boy wasn't any kid off the street. He was the Boy Wonder—well, _former_ Boy Wonder. Which made the situation even more perplexing and the atmosphere of the room even tenser.

It had become apparent that every paramedic stationed in the room had cleared out after Tim's first episode. It was better that way. Less civilian deaths.

"Tim?" Barbara said softly, "What are you doing?" She stepped forward slowly, only to be stilled immediately as Tim re-aimed the gun at her neck. He was five yards away, standing at the foot of his father's cotton sheeted bed, but the bullet would have killed her before she could even attempt to duck behind any piece of furniture.

'_Terminate on sight.'_

"Have to kill," Tim mumbled under his breath. He spoke strangely, like the words weren't his. Like he was a mere vessel.

Dick took a deep breath. "Put the gun down, Tim."

'_Terminate on sight.'_

Tim cocked the gun.

And pointed it at Nightwing's chest. "Have to kill," he repeated.

"Dick," Barbara looked desperately at her fellow Bat. "Why is Tim doing this?"

Nightwing shook his head and clenched his teeth. "It has to be the Reach. They're controlling him somehow."

"If they had gained control of his motor functions, we would be dead already." Her voice was determined, but when Dick looked at her, Barbara looked pained. "What if this was the Reach's plan the entire time?"

Dick returned his gaze to the third Robin. Tim was unrecognizable. His hair was the same color, and his clothes hadn't changed (excluding some fresh blood stains that tainted his black jeans and red t-shirt), but he was emitting an entirely new appearance. The only way Dick could explain it was that Tim was having a psychological break due to an underestimated traumatic relapse and his father's sudden death.

But Dick didn't like that explanation, so he decided to humor Barbara with hers.

"They wanted us to find him, Dick," Barbara explained, "The Reach must have installed some sort of mental manipulator device on him, so they could kill off their superhuman threats quietly and unexpectedly."

"But it didn't work," said Dick, understanding Barbara's theory, "There must have been complications and flaws. They needed to get Tim back to readjust the system."

Barbara nodded. "So they tried enticing Tim to return at Wally and Artemis's house, when they first used their emergency mental link they had installed. But they hadn't planned on Tim's solid integrity, so they fell back on Plan B."

"That's when the Reach guards killed the psych workers and attacked us. But when that didn't work, they used a low key frequency signal to threaten Tim into their lap. They weren't happy when I showed up instead. But Tim came anyway, and the Reach fixed their mechanical malfunctions, purposely leaving the tracker connected so you and the Team could find us."

"But there was one last step necessary for the process to initiate. The Reach must have needed an emotional catalyst to commence the programming."

"So they killed his father," Dick finished, darkly.

A thunderous bang sent tremors rippling through the room. The disconnected, oak door clattered against the floor as a thin figure suddenly appeared at the entrance.

"It's today? Ugh, this is so not crash!"

The young hero nonchalantly joined the two Bats at gunpoint.

"Impulse," Barbara addressed the jumpy speedster, "What are you doing here?"

Bart looked from Dick's disapproving stare to Barbara's inquiring expression. "I um, saw what happened on the news. Came by to see if Tim was okay, but I guess… he's—er—still in the denial stage of mourning?"

"Get. The. Gun—" Dick started to say, but then a gunshot rang out in the air, and Bart bit his lip to hold in a scream. He dropped to the ground, clutching his knee.

'_Terminate on sight.'_

No one spoke. They watched as Bart groaned on the floor, red blood leaking through his fingers. His absence left a clear view of Tim for Batgirl and Nightwing. He was shaking his head, but the gun clasped in his hand was still in the position aimed for the back of Bart's knee.

"Why didn't he—"

"—kill him?" Dick offered, "Tim's fighting it. He's got to be."

"Guys," Bart said through sharp breaths. His convenient superpowers were taking effect, but the bullet had made a clean through-and-though, shattering his kneecap, and his super-healing didn't have the capability to perform the proper medical procedures necessary to heal his knee appropriately. "There's… th-there's something I should prob-probably tell you."

A scream ripped through the sound of Bart's strained voice. But it wasn't his.

"You holding up, Bart?" Dick asked softly. He received a sarcastic grunt and a "yeah, totally crash" in response, and it was possible Bart began urgently explaining something to the Bats, but the focus of the room fell on the former boy hero shaking a gun in their direction.

Tim's shredded left hand was gripping the wrist of the hand clutching the pistol. Blood ran down his arms. Greif seeped through his mechanical appearance. He was panting heavily, like he was at the climax of a fight. And he was, in a way, engaging in a psychological bloodbath with the cerebral grip of the Reach's heavy hand.

He could feel everything. The searing pain of his open wounds. The horrid stares of his mentors. Bart's futuristic curses as he lay helpless on the floor. Tim's vision was clearer than ever, but it seemed he could only watch as his own hands pointed his father's gun at the two people on Earth he considered to be almost family. The Reach was strong, and his willpower was dying. He hoped any one of the three heroes in the room heard him when he struggled out a single, warning word.

"Run."

Now, if any of the people in the room had an ounce of normality, or even a slight sense of self-preservation, they would have turned on their heels and made for the exit before a bullet pierced their heart.

But the three heroes didn't move an inch.

"Funny," Bart mumbled sarcastically at Tim's instruction.

Ignoring Impulse, Barbara turned to Dick, "We need to leave. Tim's trying to warn us; he knows he's losing contr—"

"No!" interrupted Bart. He seemed to rethink the matter quickly, under the Bats' glares. "If we leave now, Tim's not going to stop. He's going to hunt down every costume-wearing vigilan—er, _hero_, and kill them. _Trust me_."

"So what do we do then, hmm?" asked Dick, critically, "wait here until he shoots us in the head? Will he be satisfied then, Impulse?"

Barbara disregarded Dick's skeptical comment. She seemed to be taking the matter far more logically than him. "How do we stop him?"

Bart honestly tried to muster up any lightheartedness he had left in him, but his knee was on fire and he was the only one who knew what it was going to take to stop Tim. He looked between the two Bats, uncharacteristically serious. "You're not going to like it."

'_Terminate on sight.'_

Tim screamed again, and Dick was sure he had finally lost control until the young hero swung the gun towards the ground and urgently yelled, "Go!"

Dick looked like he agreed with Tim. "We need to get you medical attention immediately, Bart, or your knee will heal like a pretzel, and it won't be possible to fix it without consciously ripping it apart again. Your metabolism is too fast; anesthetics won't even take effect."

"I'm fine," Bart hissed, still clutching his knee. A large blood puddle had formed under his leg. "'been moded worse before." He attempted to smile reassuringly, "You have to encourage Tim… to keep f-fighting."

Tim wasn't deaf. He was hearing everything the three heroes said. Despite his aggravation, they weren't going to leave. And if he couldn't remove them from the equation, it only left him with one choice.

He wrenched his hands closer to him, but it must have equaled pulling a two hundred pound rock up a hill, because he could already feel sweat beading off his back. Caralack's voice rang in his ears stronger than ever. Barbara's shouting was slowly fading from him.

Dick, Barbara, and Bart watched with open eyes as Tim turned the gun on himself.

"Tim!" Barbara screamed. Dick, throwing away all the proper ways he had learned to handle a situation like this, began to run towards Tim before the day turned into a complete nightmare.

_Pop._

Dick screamed, but it was probably more in frustration than because of the pain gripping his arm. You didn't have to be the former protégé of the World's Greatest Detective to know when your shoulder was dislocated, and it had happened enough times that the pain wasn't making him see stars.

But when he felt the cold grip holding his wrist in place and looked to examine the police-style handcuffs linking his right hand to the window panel, he moved his livid gaze to a guilt-struck speedster hunching next to him.

"I'm sorry," Bart said solemnly, one hand still wrapped around his bleeding knee, "but you'll thank me later."

When Dick looked past him, he saw Barbara finagling with the metal restraints holding her to the window on the adjacent wall. She looked hopelessly at Tim. Time was running out. The fourteen year old already had the barrel of the gun lodged to his chest.

Dick looked at Impluse desperately. "Bart… Bart, Tim's going to shoot himself!"

The speedster's eyes were remorseful, but Dick, even through his stress, caught a hint of wisdom glimmering behind his goggles. He looked at Nightwing like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"I know."

It didn't make sense. What possible reason could Bart have for preventing Nightwing and Batgirl from saving Tim?

Dick didn't have time to tend to his right arm's injury, so he settled with throwing a left-handed punch at Bart. He knew the speedster would dodge easily, but Dick didn't know what else to do. He pulled at the handcuffs, hopelessly. By the time it would take him to get loose, Tim would already have a hole in his chest.

He secretly hoped his Team of covert teenage heroes would crash through the walls and come to the rescue in the nick of the time, but they must have missed their cue. Because when he turned back to Tim, he saw the boy's fingers press against the trigger, fresh blood splatter over Jack Drake's white walls, and Tim's eyes fade from incredibly pained to completely hollow as he crumpled to the foot of his dead father's bed, motionless in his own puddle of blood.

And Dick screamed for any hope in the world that he wasn't staring at his little brother's corpse.

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**A/N: I realize that there are still a lot of questions to answer, which means I'm going to have a lot of work to do in the epilogue. I really really really want to post next Saturday, but I don't know if I'll even be halfway through at that point… meh. The GOOD NEWS is that the last chapter is going to be WONDERFUL. At least, I think so. I hope so. But not wonderful in the 'happy-ending' sense, necessarily.**

_**Trivia Question #12: In Young Justice, what is the first word Robin dissects?**_

_**A) Traught**_

_**B) Whelmed**_

_**C) Aster**_

_**D) Turbed**_

**Okay, so RECAP: Tim's shot and Bart may be responsible? What do you think is going on? Review! **


	16. The Pieces

**A/N: LAST CHAPTER. There's a time skip, but don't be worried when you don't get all the answers in the beginning… I sort of spread out the hints of what happened in the gap throughout the chapter.**

**Last week's trivia question brought back good memories, didn't it? The answer to **_**'In Young Justice, what was the first word Robin dissects?' **_**was **_**B) Whelmed. **_**Correct answers came from: **_**Cahayafosc, Lakeshine, Ooo-shiny, UndecidedGirl, AHK911, Guest, Dente15, ReNewIt, Stronger123, randomkitty101, Irisgoddess, **_**and**_** FantasizeDayDreams**_**! **

**Oh, and there's a special surprise in this chapter! You'll know when you get to it, trust me! It **_**is**_** the last chapter after all. Enjoy!**

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Chapter 16: The Pieces

_Gotham Medical: Thompkins Offices_

_August 1 2017 [1030]_

The sky had never been such a vibrant purple.

It should have been encouraging to look up to such a beautiful phenomenon, and maybe it would have been if the clouds had been balls of pink cotton candy and even through the thickest layer of sugary skies, the subtle sparkle of stars glimmered beneath. Maybe if he had lived in Metropolis, or even Central City, he could have fallen into the beauty of natural scenery instead of staring into a deep plum, aerial abyss with nothing but the silver shades of condensed water molecules to humor his loneful eyes. And yet his mind must have found a notch in the sky worthy enough to bury itself in, he realized, when he heard his own name rattle in his ears and felt a cold grip on his shoulder shake him out of his daze.

"Tim—Tim, are you listening?" Dick's familiar, concerned-big-brother expression was present when Tim turned from the window, like the fourteen year old had expected, but he swore an ounce of honest empathy glimmered in the civilian-clothed Nightwing's bright, blue eyes. "Doctor Leslie is talking."

Tim looked back at the doctor. Instead of the lavender sweater and gray skirt she had worn on her last encounter with Tim, she was wearing a professional white coat and two inch heels with a silver stethoscope around her neck—her work clothes. Tim still didn't understand why he had to meet her in a doctor's office. He would have much rather preferred to stay inside the Bat Cave.

Leslie had the same pale pink lipstick wrapped into a gentle smile as she always had. "As I was saying," she started slowly, "You healed well, Tim, though you will be experiencing some soreness and occasionally, short periods of more intense pain over the next few weeks." She handed Tim a semi-transparent orange cylinder, "Don't hesitate to take these when you're in pain. But no more than three a day." She eyed Dick and Barbara, who stood beside Tim on either side. "They can be highly addictive."

"Thank you, Leslie," Tim heard Barbara say. He fumbled with the pill bottle in his hands.

"Before you go," the doctor said, "I wanted to give you the contact information for some psychiatrists I know. As a doctor, I strongly suggest that you make weekly appointments with one. You've been through a great deal, Tim, and even attending group therapy sessions may help you understand what has happened and how you can adapt to these tragic changes."

'_No way.' _Tim had thought he was out of the realm of bleached sheets and lavish pity when he left the hospital yesterday, and no one on Earth could have made him walk straight back into any white walled building in that moment. He was _done_ with people questioning his sanity.

Tim didn't see Doctor Leslie give the yellow sticky note to Barbara. He had already left the room. In fact, he didn't realize he was running until he was in the hallway, watching pastel blurs send him concerned looks and white walls melting into a swarm of clouds. He heard someone call his name from behind him, but he didn't stop.

He wasn't sure if he had been running for a few seconds or a couple of hours before he burst through a set of dark blue doors and felt a blast of fresh air invigorate his senses. He felt his heart rate slow with the sight of the purple skies above and the darkened emerald grass ahead. Wind whipped through his hair. The persistent sounds of car engines and police sirens faded into chirping birds and the whistling of airstream rustling leaves.

He would have run forever, but his legs stopped moving beneath him and as soon as he slowed to a walk, he felt his lungs burn. His chest ached, where the bullet had pierced him. Dick was going to kill him for his mid-morning jog into the park; Tim hadn't stepped outside alone in weeks.

There was a vacant bench open, so Tim decided to take a rest before Dick's inevitable lecture. He could hope Dick would understand that Tim had to distance himself from any soul who would put a paper bracelet on his wrist and write him a prescription or he would have put a hole in a wall… or maybe a person.

"Are you okay?"

Tim almost jumped off his seat at the sound of the young girl's voice. He looked to his left, where a blonde teenager suddenly appeared to be sitting beside him. She looked like she was the same age as Tim, with long golden hair highlighted by white streaks and sparkling blue eyes. Her breath smelled like vanilla and peppermint, like Christmas, even though it was the middle of summer. She was smiling curiously, her white teeth immaculate against her purple lip gloss.

"You seem kind of… out of breath. Are you nervous about something?"

"Oh," Tim's eyes averted to his hands as he felt his face flush, "N-no, I was just… thinking-g, I gu-uess." He smiled bashfully.

The girl seemed to drop the matter rather quickly. "What's that?"

At first, Tim didn't know what she was referring to. He couldn't seem to regain control of his eyes and look at her properly. But then she pointed to the object he had clutched in his hand, and he realized for the first time that he had carried his pill bottle with him on his run.

"It's nothing," Tim said, tossing the orange container into the bushes.

The girl changed her smile from sweet to thoughtful, with a hint of concern.

"Hard week?" she asked, sighing.

"You could say that," answered Tim, suddenly feeling calmer about the girl's presence.

The young blonde leaned back in the bench. Her eyes scanned the cherry trees and floral bushes of Gotham Park scenery. "I know the feeling. Cops knocked on my door this morning, trying to track down my dad. Three weeks out of jail and he's already got two years hard time for robbing a _bakery_."

Tim didn't have the heart to share the story about his own father (or perhaps he still hadn't accepted it himself), so he settled with an apologetic expression and didn't know what else to say except for, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," she said, shaking her head. She let out a breath, then tore her eyes away from the trees to look back at Tim. "Can you believe it? Two minutes with you and I'm already sharing my life story! You must be special; I don't even know your name."

"Tim," he said eagerly, though as soon as he said it, he realized it sounded far more loud and anxious than he intended. "My name is Tim," he said again, smoother.

The girl nodded. "Stephanie. But you can call me Steph."

Tim smiled. He listened to the birds chirping and the buzzing of a beehive, and he couldn't have felt any calmer. Dick and Barbara would be there any second, but he didn't want them to come. He just wanted to sit on the bench beside Stephanie and watch the weird purple sky darken into the night.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Stephanie asked. "You look like you're running away from something." She hesitated, "not that I would discourage that… I, uh, sort of did it too. My dad's trial officially started ten minutes ago. I know he'll be convicted, but I don't want to see him being taken away again." She pressed her violet lips together, quickly changing the subject. "Look, people tell me that I jump to conclusions all the time, but I think you need some advice. Maybe we both do." Her smile faded a touch. "I watched the police car drive off with my dad inside, and I was so angry and… hurt that he could've done this to our family. But then I looked up at the sky and it was _purple—_a beautiful lavender tinted mauve_. My favorite color. _And it reminded me that there's more to life than the negativity that consumes our minds into believing we're hopeless. And maybe it makes us stronger. Maybe… all these terrible things that keep happening… make us who we are. Metaphorically speaking," Stephanie looked at Tim like she could see straight through his eyes and into his heart. "I think we need more purple skies."

Tim was speechless for a moment. He felt ashamed for wishing the purple skies away earlier. Apparently, they had been useful to _someone_, and he hadn't honestly expected this girl to say anything relevant to his predicament, but as she was talking, Tim felt his own puzzle of life fall into place. Looking back on it, he wished he could have said more to her in that moment, convinced to her stay with him. But the girl stood from the bench and looked back at Tim before he had the chance.

"I know we're probably never going to see each other again," she said, faintly smiling, "but I'm glad I chose your bench." Tim watched as Stephanie turned and walked down the empty park path, her blonde hair flying gracefully in the wind and her last words filling the air with her warm, candy breath. "Goodbye, Tim."

"Goodbye, Steph," he whispered back, though the girl was already far out of earshot.

Tim didn't remember how long he sat on the bench and watched the trees swallow Stephanie's figure, but by the time he turned his head, Dick was clear in his vision. He was holding the yellow sticky note in one hand and his keys in the other.

"Car," he ordered, firmly, "_Now_."

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_Gotham: Wayne Manor_

_August 1 2017 [1130]_

The car ride to the Manor wasn't one Tim would have ever wanted to repeat. Dick hadn't been that angry in a long time. After Jack Drake's death, it seemed like everyone had pity to spare for the fourteen-year-old orphan. Dick, especially, had taken an extra effort to ensure that he wasn't overwhelming Tim so soon after his father's murder, as he himself knew exactly how Tim was feeling. But the car ride must have been an exception.

Tim wasn't necessarily listening to the fifteen minute lecture, but when Barbara pulled in to the Manor's gates, he jumped out of the car as soon as it slowed to a stop and ran inside, almost knocking over a curious Alfred, and closed the door to Bruce's study behind him.

"You shouldn't be so hard on him," Barbara told Dick as they walked up the pathway to the front door of Wayne Manor. "Tim's been through a lot. The last thing he needs is someone he looks up to telling him that he's living his life wrong."

Dick shook his head, sighing, "I just don't want him to end up in a hospital again. Running out in the street when he's still healing from a gunshot wound? That was careless."

"He doesn't want to see a shrink, we know that for sure." Barbara smiled warmly, "I think we need to stop treating Tim like he's a helpless kid. You may not want to believe it, Dick, but Tim's a lot like you when you were that age."

Dick looked at Barbara as they neared the Mansion. "That's what I'm afraid of." His hand wrapped around the doorknob of Wayne Manor. Then froze. His ears perked. He turned slowly, a morbid expression already engraved on his face.

"Hi guys. Look, I know that I was sort of MIA last month, but I came to talk t—"

It was very possible that Richard Grayson was a speedster. Even the fastest boy alive couldn't dodge his swift attack.

Glass shattered. In an instant, Bart was pinned against the wall of Wayne Manor with his head through a window and fresh blood running down his neck. He looked at Dick, shocked.

"Ow!" he exclaimed, and then stopped, noticing something peculiar. "Why can't I…"

"Move?" Dick offered, smiling cruelly. "I've targeted a set of nerves that control the majority of your motor functions. In two minutes, you will be permanently paralyzed, so if you ever want to run again, I suggest you talk fast." His smile faded into a growl. "Why on _earth_ would you let Tim fire the gun?"

It was clear that Bart's eyes were playing back unwanted memories, but he looked at Dick like they were playing a game. "Spoilers," he said, though Dick's glare made him look rather remorseful of his choice of words.

Barbara couldn't see what Dick did (she was standing a ways behind him, holding too much anger at Bart to help him), but she heard Bart's scream loud and clear, and suddenly she was really glad that Wayne Manor had the longest walkway on the planet.

"Don't. Test. Me. Tim flat lined _six times_, and it was your fault." Dick's voice was so low it was hard to hear. Bart almost wished he wouldn't have heard it. "If I increase the pressure on these nerves, your time lessens by eighty-percent. Talk. Now."

Bart seemed hesitant, but he didn't come back from the future to lose his powers. "Okay," he agreed, looking around like someone was going to overhear the conversation. "I came here to stop Blue Beetle from falling into the Reach's hands…. But Jamie's not the only one that the Reach controlled."

Dick was impatient. "What would Tim have possibly done that could have affected the future so negatively it was better to kill him than save him?"

"I _was _saving him! Where I come from, there are no superheroes like the Just—"

"What are you saying? That Tim was responsible for killing the Justice League?"

Bart sighed. "The Reach may have written the program, but Tim was the puppet. He killed you and Barbara in that room and he killed the entire Team within the next month. Without them, the Justice League doesn't come back to Earth. They're stuck in an _intergalactic prison_ for the rest of their lives." The speedster paused, reading Nightwing's processing expression. "The Reach installed their central control unit beside Tim's heart, under a disguise unit, so x-rays wouldn't pick it up. It was advanced alien technology; the only way to disengage it was to destroy it. I knew Tim was smart. He placed the gun so the bullet would barely miss his heart, right where the device was installed. The bullet shattered the microscopic unit, Tim healed, and now everything is the way it should have been in the first place."

Dick didn't know what to do. Or what to believe. All he did was look at the breathless, bleeding boy that had apparently saved the world and tried not to believe that Tim would have killed him and Barbara if Impulse hadn't stepped in.

"Let him go, Dick," Barbara said from behind him, "I think you have other matters to attend to."

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_Batcave_

_August 1 2017 [1200]_

Red. Black. And Yellow.

Tim could still remember what it felt like the first time he put it on. Batman had already agreed to let him become the third Robin, and he had been training for months, but when he put the _costume _on, it all became real. Even then, he would never truly realize what he was getting himself into.

Just over a year later, Batman had left Gotham, both his parents were dead, and he'll never wear the suit again.

He looked over the glass cage in front of him, sparkling clean and holding his—_the _Robin costume. And he wondered where he would be if the Reach had never captured him. He could have been home to protect his father when Boomerang came to attack. Or, more reasonably, the Reach wouldn't have had any reason to hire the criminal in the first place.

And suddenly he really, really wished he hadn't thrown the painkillers in the bushes at Gotham Park.

"Hungry?"

Tim didn't need to turn around to know that Dick was walking closer to him, waving a bag of cookies in his hand. He shook his head when Dick gestured the bag towards him, still looking at the spotless glass case. Dick casually dropped the cookies behind him and stood beside Tim, trying to think of what to say.

"I'm sorry," he said, deciding to let Tim know how he really felt, "I'm sorry that I didn't save you in time. I'm sorry that you have to live with dozens of murders on your conscious. I'm sorry that I couldn't detect the device the Reach had installed. I'm sorry that I wasn't there to protect your dad." Dick sighed, but Tim still didn't look at him. "I've made so many mistakes…and I felt like if I just retired you from being Robin, maybe it would be my redemption. Maybe it would save you from more suffering of this life."

"And if Bruce heard that I got a paper cut, you and Barbara would be burned at the stake."

Dick pushed one of the Batcave's many swivel chairs next to Tim's and took a seat. He looked apprehensive, but he continued anyways. "Before Bruce left, he pulled me and Babs aside, and told us that… we had to keep you safe." Dick paused before continuing, "Bruce knew that if anything happened to you, we—him, me, Barbara, Alfred, the Team—wouldn't be able to cope. Another loss in the field would… break us. No matter how frustrating he is sometimes, Gotham needs Batman. She needs all of us. But your dad didn't want you to have this life, either."

"My dad is _dead_."

"I know," Dick said softly, "and I understand how you fee—"

"No, Dick," Tim said, balling his hands into fists and clenching his teeth like he was looking his arch nemesis in the face. "You don't understand. I didn't _get_ to say goodbye. I didn't even get the chance to mourn over my dad's death, because I had to _shoot myself_ to save _your life_." Tim's shoulders slacked, and he seemed to soften in grief. He lowered his voice to a whisper. "I didn't even get to attend my own father's _funeral_. Instead, I was stuck in a hospital fighting for my life." Tim looked at Dick, searching for answers. "It's not fair. Why is _nothing _fair?"

Silence lurked. Dick didn't know what to say. He couldn't lie to Tim's face and say everything was going to be okay. He couldn't tell Tim that things were going to get better. He knew from experience that they didn't.

"And now I'm an _orphan_." Tim let out a quick, hollow laugh. "I guess the robin legacy continues…"

"I'm sure that when Bruce gets back, he'll be happy to consider an adoption, Tim."

"No thanks," Tim said bleakly, "It would hurt too much to be around..._this_, and know that I'll never be part of it."

It broke Dick's heart. Things weren't the way they should have been. All he wanted to do was make it all right again. "Tim, if you want to be Robin again…"

Tim didn't speak for a moment. Then, he looked back at the glass case with the Robin costume in it. "I never wanted to be _the Boy Wonder_. I became Robin because Batman needed one. And maybe you were right when you retired me. Batman's not here anymore. Maybe he doesn't _need_ a Robin anymore. Maybe… I don't belong here."

"Tim…Bruce is coming back. And he'll be the same stubborn bat he's always been." Dick smiled, and he swore he saw a small grin on Tim's face too. "Trust me, he needs you." Nightwing looked at him seriously when Tim turned to face him. Dick couldn't believe what he was about to say even when he was speaking it. "These past few months have broken you—broken us all. I think it's fair time we stop acting like we're just a pile of glass shards. It's time we pick up the pieces." He stood and walked beside the glass case. "I heard you and your new friend talking earlier, and I think we need more purple skies too." Dick smiled like he was insinuating something, but Tim didn't have to time to process it before the older hero threw his hand into the case, shattering the glass and sprinkling blood over the floor. It seemed like a dramatic move when a large red button was positioned on the side of the case to open it properly, but maybe Dick was trying, in his own unique way, to obliterate Tim's expectations. He grabbed the red and black costume with one hand and threw it on the fourteen-year-old's lap.

"Tim," he said, wiping his bloody fist on his dark pants, "Let's not be broken anymore."

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**A/N: Aaaaaannnnnnddddd…. The End. Oh, how painful it always is to finish off a nice fanfiction! How did you like the appearance of Stephanie Brown, eh? I knew I would get that in somehow! I think that scene was my favorite one I've ever written, because Tim and Steph are so cute together, and it was so much fun to write their first encounter. **

**I hope I answered all the questions. If I missed any big ones, you can ask and I'll try to make up some intelligent answer that hopefully ties in with the plot. ;) I don't think I'm going to have a trivia question this chapter, because I wouldn't be able to give credit to those who guessed correctly. Okay, yes, I'm just using that as an excuse because I'm flat out of questions. I would love to know what you thought of **_**Breaking Bones, **_**though, so please review! And the ironic thing is, I don't even think I broke any of the character's bones this entire fanfiction! I should really spend time thinking of better titles.**

**Another fic is in the works, but until then… please review!**

**-Seeping Through the Stars**


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